


Never Send A Psychotic To Do A Lunatic's Job

by sabershadowkat



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Council of Watchers find a way to vanquish the demons of the world.  The trouble is, if they do that, they'll destroy everything.<br/>Post Checkpoint/Blood Money<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Send A Psychotic To Do A Lunatic's Job

**Author's Note:**

> Answer to Eternal Nightcap Challenge #1found   
> [here](http://web.archive.org/web/20051214195241/http://www.s8219.net/eternalnightcap/fiction/fic-ENchallenges.html)

"Ordinarily he is insane, but he has lucid moments when he is only stupid."  
-Heinrich Heine  
  


"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact."  
-William Shakespeare, _A Midsummers Night's Dream_  
  


"I love mankind -- it's the people I can't stand."  
-Charles M. Schultz, _Go Fly A Kite, Charlie Brown_  
  


"Is a man a salvage at heart, skinned o'er with fragile Manners? Or is salvagery but a faint taint in the natural man's gentility, which erupts now and gain like pimples on an angel's arse?"  
-John Barth, _The Sot-Weed Factor_  
  
  
  


**Prologue**  
  


_In the laboratory, nobody cared if you screamed._  
  
  
  


_Sunnydale, California_  
  
  
  


In the year 2000, the government experiment known as the Initiative was destroyed by Adam, a renegade project created by Dr. Margaret Walsh. A ragtag group of rebels, identities unknown by the government, infiltrated Initiative headquarters, removed the Adam threat, and helped save what few soldiers and scientists had survived. The government labeled the Initiative experiment a failure and denied that it ever existed.  
  


Those soldiers that had survived, however, did not forget. They banded together to form their own fighting unit, one that didn't have a name and the government would deny existed, too, but funded nevertheless. These trained soldiers traveled the world and fought to bring down demons that threatened mankind.  
  


What the government didn't know was that the surviving scientists also banded together to form their own scientific unit. They also did not have a name, and had private, corporate funding. These scientists stayed in Sunnydale, in their state-of-the-art high-tech secured building that was disguised as a toy development laboratory. They utilized their scientific minds, the data they'd stolen from the Initiative, and the large population of demons in Sunnydale for new experiments.  
  


In the year 2006, the scientists' experiments revolted. Two chose to escape back to civilization, the remainder stayed at the toy laboratory until the scientists were at their command. The experiments, mostly demon/machine hybrids, forced the scientists to create more of their kind. Like Dr. Walsh's original plan, the hybrids wanted to create a race of super-intelligent, super-strong warriors. They wanted to rule the world.  
  


They failed.  
  


They failed because the two that had escaped were friends of the original ragtag group of rebels. The remaining hybrids were destroyed and the scientists fled Sunnydale for their lives. The identity of the corporation behind the scientific unit was never learned, and the laboratory was stripped of all notes and files -- but not before one of the unknown rebels downloaded a large number of them.  
  


With the information downloaded, the rebels were able to learn what had happened to the two and were better able to care for them. For that's what the rebels did -- they cared. They were a family that loved and protected one another, a town named Sunnydale, and, occasionally, the world.  
  
  
  


**Part One**  
  


_November, 2010_

_Los Angeles, California_  
  
  
  


Lilah Morgan opened the door without knocking and walked rapidly into the richly furnished office, her eyes focused on a printout of an email she'd received from an overseas contact. "Lindsey, we have a problem," she began.  
  


"Lilah, can't you see I have visitors?"  
  


Lilah raised her eyes and she forced herself not to grimace. Half-draped over her Co-Vice President of Special Operations was Darla, one of her least favorite vampires. Lindsey looked smitten. It was nauseating. "Hello, Darla."  
  


"Lilah," Darla sniffed disdainfully.  
  


Lilah's gaze surveyed the rest of Lindsey McDonald's office and a genuine look of pleasure graced her features. "Drusilla. It's lovely to see you again."  
  


The raven-haired vampiress giggled. "Someone doesn't like grandmummy."  
  


"How astute," Lilah said, returning her gaze to Lindsey and his blond flea-invested blanket. Lilah smiled benignly. "Lindsey, if you can free yourself, I'd like a word."  
  


Lindsey studied Lilah a moment, then sighed. "Darla--"  
  


"It's okay, pet," Darla interrupted, stroking her blood-red nails across his white shirt as she extracted herself from his lap. "Dru and I were just leaving."  
  


"We were?" Drusilla said, surprised.  
  


"Yes, dear," Darla crossed to the other vampiress and took her arm, "we were."  
  


Lilah mouthed "Bye" at Drusilla's wave and waited until the two left the office before turning back to Lindsey. She walked to his desk and handed him the email printout. "Like I said, we have a problem."  
  


Lindsey read the page, a frown erasing the disgustingly dopey look Darla had put on his face. "Who's this from?"  
  


"One of my contacts in Oxford," Lilah replied. She perched on the edge of his desk. "I received a secondary confirmation a few minutes ago. This is real."  
  


"This is trouble."  
  


Duh, she wanted to say. Why did he think she was in his office? A threesome with slut-fang?  
  


"This is big trouble," Lindsey repeated, rising from his black leather chair. "If it's true and they succeed, we'll be terminated."  
  


"Maybe we'll be transferred to a different division," Lilah said. "Wolfram and Hart do represent human clients and we _are_ both Attorneys at Law--"  
  


"No, Lilah," Lindsey interrupted. "We're head of Special Operations, and once that's gone, we're gone -- permanently."  
  


Lilah fell silent. She knew he was correct, she simply didn't want to acknowledge that Wolfram and Hart thought she was expendable. They'd survived this long -- it had been almost ten years since Holland Manners had died and Lindsey and she were promoted into his position. They'd survived ten years of hard cases and clients and an annoying -- though sexy as sin -- vampire detective that insisted on making their lives hell. There was no way she'd let some pissant council of demon hunters destroy what she'd survived with a wave of their clammy hands.  
  


"I'll use the discretionary fund and hire an assassin," Lilah began, only to be interrupted by Lindsey again.  
  


"A single assassin against the Council of Watchers?" Lindsey laughed. "They've been in existence for over a thousand years. An assassin wouldn't stand a chance. A score of assassins wouldn't stand a chance."  
  


"Then what do you suggest?"  
  


Lindsey sighed. "I don't know. Let me think on it."  
  


"Fine," Lilah started for the door. "You work on a solution. I'll try to find out how long we have until our obituaries appear in the _L.A. Times_."  
  


"Wait. I'll walk with you." Lindsey picked up his suit coat and slid it on. "I want to stop by accounting and find out exactly how much we have in the discretionary fund."  
  


Lilah waited for him and together they left his office, both on the trail to find a way to save their jobs... and their lives.  
  


*****  
  


"Ooh-ooh-ooh," Drusilla giggled softly. "While the cats are away, the mice will play."  
  


"Drusilla, shh," Darla scolded quietly as she eased Lindsey's office door open and peered inside. The office was empty. "Come on."  
  


The two vampiresses ducked inside and Darla shut the door firmly behind them. The blond glanced around the lawyer's office again before quickly crossing the room to his desk.  
  


"What are we looking for, sweets?" Drusilla asked, picking up a chair cushion and looking underneath.  
  


"Whatever had Ms. Frigid Monobrow in a tizzy," Darla replied. She picked up a single sheet of paper. "And I think this is it."  
  


"What does it say?"  
  


Darla's faced turned ashen as she looked to her granchilde-cum-sire. "It says something very bad, Drusilla. Something very, very bad."  
  
  
  


**Part Two**  
  


"Angel!" Darla called as she and Drusilla rushed into the Hyperion Hotel, the home base for Angel Investigations. "Angel!"  
  


"He's not here," Cordelia informed them from her perch behind the registration counter.  
  


"Well, where is he?" Darla demanded.  
  


The brunette seer did not look away from the computer screen. "Out."  
  


"When will he be back?"  
  


"Sometime."  
  


Darla smacked her hand on the green and black marble counter. "Cordelia, this is important!"  
  


Cordelia turned to Darla and smiled politely. "Would you like to wait?"  
  


Darla growled and stalked out of the lobby and into Angel's private office. She slammed the door shut behind her.  
  


Cordelia winked at Drusilla, who laughed. "Naughty girl," the vampiress chided with a smile. "It's not nice to tease grandmummy like that."  
  


"But it's so easy," Cordelia said. She tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ear, exposing a tattooed band of crosses encircling her neck, and gestured towards Angel's office. "What's up with her, anyway?"  
  


Drusilla walked her fingers along the edge of the counter. "Captain Hook received a message from the Red Queen: No more tea at the Mad Hatter's party, the croc snapped it all up. Tick-tock."  
  


Cordelia Chase blinked several times. She was fluent in Drusilla and fourteen other languages, including Angel Grunt, but sometimes even the most expert translators could only say, "Huh?"  
  


Drusilla had already wandered away, though, so Cordelia couldn't question her further. With a shake of her head, Cordelia returned to researching one of the current clients of Angel Investigations.  
  


Angel Investigations had been in business since 1999, and Cordelia had been the Executive Administrative Assistant since day one, and Executive Seer since about day seventy (except for that time that Angel went nuts and fired everyone, but no one talked about that.) Over the years, the personnel had grown and changed, but the job was the same: they helped the hopeless.  
  


"Little Bunny Foo-Foo, bouncing through the forest...," Drusilla's sing-song voice drifted down the main stairs, "...hopping after field mice and bopping them on the head."  
  


The hopeless kept getting stranger, Cordelia thought, and most of them worked at Angel Investigations.  
  


First, there was Wesley Wyndham-Price, the super-educated ex-Watcher with a stick up his ass the size of a redwood tree. Only, Wesley was an excellent fighter, had a dangerous 'I went to public school' edge, and looked scrumptious in jeans. But he was still a nerd.  
  


Then there was Charles Gunn, street thug, demon hunter, dose-of-reality boy that had biceps the size of Cordelia's waist. Gunn was the muscle at Angel Investigations, and the one to call when moving furniture. Or to open a stubborn jar. Or to kill a really icky spider. Or when the air conditioner was broken so he had to take off his shirt while he worked...  
  


David Nabbitt, dork worth billions, was a semi-member of the investigative staff. He had the contacts and the money for their more extravagant cases. He reminded Cordelia of a puppy, but as long as he didn't try to hump her leg, she didn't mind his presence.  
  


Kate Lockley. Police contact. Bitch.  
  


Then, there were the vampiresses: Darla and Drusilla. The Double-D's, as Gunn called them, although Cordelia bet he was picturing them naked when he did. Men were all alike, including Angel, who'd tried for months to kill the vampiresses but suddenly decided to invite them home instead. They lived at the Hyperion on the fourth floor and spied for Angel. Cordelia did _not_ want to know how her boss got them to behave, but they hadn't tried to snack on her in the eight years they'd been around. As long as that continued, she put up with them.  
  


Finally, there was the big boss himself: Angel, the vampire. Mr. 'Do I or Don't I Have A Soul.' Part-time psychotic, full-time evil fighter. He was cranky, broody, pig-headed, and gorgeous. Every-so-often, he was shy and kittenish. If he wasn't paying her as much as he didn't know he did, Cordelia would have said ta-ta ages ago. But she knew, as did the others, that Angel needed and wanted them around, if only to remind him that there was still good in the world.  
  


Like Moose Tracks ice cream. Now, _that_ was good.  
  


Cordelia jumped off her stool and headed towards the kitchen. "Dru, ice cream!" she called up the stairs as she passed them.  
  


The vampiress came hopping down the stairs, her elbows bent and her hands by her chest like a rabbit. "Hop, hop, hop. The Forever Boy follows the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. Can't be late. Tick-tock. Tick-tock."  
  


"Still with the _Alice in Wonderland_ and _Peter Pan_ references," Cordelia said to herself as she pushed through the swinging doors to the service hallway. "Whatever Darla knows must be important."  
  


Drusilla floated into the kitchen as Cordelia was dishing the ice cream. The raven-haired woman removed a container of blood from the cooler, humming to herself. Cordelia knew Dru and Darla still hunted -- which was badness, but Angel said no staking his girltoys -- but they also fed from the stash of animal blood Angel kept in the refrigerator.  
  


"Dru," Cordelia began, handing a dish of Moose Tracks to the other woman. "Where did you and Darla go this evening?"  
  


"To the heart of the wolf," Drusilla replied, drowning her ice cream in blood. "My grandmummy had a tickle."  
  


"Wolfram and Hart, I should have known," Cordelia said. The pieces of the Drusilla puzzle fell into place. Captain Hook, the one-handed leader, was Lindsey. The Red Queen would be Lilah. Lilah gave a message to Lindsey that Darla somehow found out -- no surprise there.  
  


The rest of what Drusilla rambled about was confusing. Who was the Mad Hatter and what was the tea? And the crocodile? Tick-tock most likely meant the clock was ticking, or time was, as Wesley would say, of the essence. Then there was the later reference to the Forever Boy -- Peter Pan -- and following the white rabbit. Who were they, and where were they going?  
  


Cordelia stuck a spoonful of Moose Tracks in her mouth and groaned at the taste. Too much thinking, not enough ice cream. She'd tell Angel what his crazy daughter had said and let him figure it out. That's why his name was on the business cards.  
  


*****  
  


"Angel," Darla frowned at the dark-haired vampire as he entered the office, "where have you been?"  
  


"Out," Angel replied. His brow shot up when he heard Darla growl. "What?"  
  


"Never mind," Darla said, her teeth clenched in a false smile.  
  


Angel crossed behind his dark wood desk and sank down into his leather chair with a sigh. He was tired, crabby, and he thought he might have poison ivy. When Cordelia had informed him around a mouthful of mush that Darla was waiting in his office, he had given serious consideration to running to his room and locking the door. He didn't want to deal with his sire, he wanted a shower, some Calamine lotion, and the remote control to his television.  
  


Folding his hands over his stomach, Angel leaned back in the chair and looked across the desk at Darla. "What's on your mind?"  
  


"Angel, we have a problem," Darla said ominously. She uncurled herself from the plush client chair, stood, and stuck her hand down the front of her low-cut blouse.  
  


Angel smirked, blatantly staring at her bosom. "You decided you'd like to try a Wonderbra and need money?"  
  


"Not funny," Darla said. She extracted a well-folded piece of paper from her blouse and passed it to him. "And neither is this."  
  


Curious, Angel unfolded the single page as Darla perched on the edge of the chair. He skimmed the contents, tightened his jaw, then reread the page more thoroughly. "Where did you get this?"  
  


"Lindsey's office," Darla replied. "Lilah brought it to him while Dru and I were there. Angel, do you think it's true?"  
  


"I don't know," Angel said slowly. "Has Dru had any visions?"  
  


Darla snorted softly. "You know I don't listen to her."  
  


Angel absently waved her away, his eyes focused on the page. "I'll see what I can find out."  
  


Darla went to leave, and paused at the doorway. "Angel?" she said. The dark-haired vampire looked up. "If it's true..."  
  


"If it's true, you'd better screw Lindsey six ways from Sunday, because you aren't going to be around long," Angel said bluntly. Darla gave him a part-scathing, part-pained look and left.  
  


Angel dropped forward and banged his forehead on his antique oak desk. "I... hate... my... unlife...," he whined with each hit. He sighed, straightened, smoothed out the page, and read its contents again.  
  


It was a printout of an email message from someone with a United Kingdom address to Lilah Morgan. People could get email addresses from anywhere that said anything, so Angel wasn't going to rely on the "uk" portion being accurate. There was no subject in the subject line and it wasn't carbon copied to anyone else.  
  


The body of the message was simple and to the point. If it turned out to be true, a lot of non-humans were going to be very dead, including Angel. He didn't like that idea.  
  


_The Council of Watchers has discovered a way to vanquish the demon population on earth._  
  


Growling, Angel crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. He did _not_ need this shit. He scratched his upper thigh. He was tired of other demon hunters mucking things up. He scratched his elbow. He didn't want the responsibility he was just handed. He scratched his neck. He despised his soul at times. He scratched his crotch.  
  


He hated poison ivy.  
  
  
  


**Part Three**  
  


_Sunnydale, California_  
  
  
  


"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Spike stomped back to the bed, sat down on the edge, and glared angrily at his Doc Martens. "Why didn't you tell me they were on the wrong feet?!"  
  


"Sorry."  
  


Spike transferred his glare to the young blond woman leaning against the bedroom door. "You know they bloody laugh at me when I do something like this."  
  


"They do not," Buffy Summers told him with a small shake of her head.  
  


"Do, too," Spike said sullenly. He bent forward and began to unlace his boots. "They laugh at me all the time. 'Ha-ha, Spike can't dress himself. Ha-ha, Spike gets lost on patrol. Ha-ha, Spike couldn't find his dick with both hands.'"  
  


"I see where this is going," Buffy said. "You just want me to comment on your big penis."  
  


Spike gave her a sly grin. "You think I have a big cock?"  
  


"Let me get my magnifying glass first, then I'll let you know."  
  


Spike chuckled as he pulled off his boots, switched them, and shoved his feet back into them. Leaning forward, he snagged the black laces on his left Doc and started to retie his boot. "One bunny ear, two bunny ears," he mumbled, making loops out of the lace ends. "The bunnies cross paths and one goes into the bunny hole."  
  


The dishwater-blond vampire glanced questioningly at Buffy. Buffy smiled softly at him and nodded. Perking up, Spike tightened the knot and buckled the boot belt over the tied laces, then started on the other Doc.  
  


The clock alarm went off on the night-stand, filling the small bedroom with music. "'...I come from a land down-under...'"  
  


Spike immediately joined in, making up the words as he sang along. "Where I rape and pillage and loot and plunder..." He winked at the giggling blond woman, rose from the bed, and waded through his messy bedroom to the closet. The only item hanging in it was his duster; the rest of his clothing was strewn on the blue-carpeted floor.  
  


He removed the duster from the closet, slid it on, and checked the pockets for weapons. Stake, check. 'Nother stake, check. Knife -- ow -- check.  
  


"Ready, slowpoke?" Buffy asked. "Your breakfast is probably getting cold."  
  


Spike brushed his hair back, and it immediately flopped into his face again. His blue eyes crossed as he glared at the offending thick strands. "I need a haircut."  
  


"Whatever you do, _don't_ try to cut your own hair again," Buffy warned, as he shut off the alarm clock. "Remember what happened last time?"  
  


"I thought I did good," Spike protested.  
  


"It looked like you stuck your tongue in an electric socket."  
  


"It did not!" Spike exclaimed, following her out the door.  
  


"Trust me. You looked like a deranged hedgehog."

  
  


*****  
  
  
  


Rupert Giles looked up from the newspaper as Spike came bounding down the stairs like a ten-year-old, duster tails flapping behind him as he jumped the last few steps. "Spike, I've told you not to do that," the greying Watcher scolded.  
  


"Sorry," Spike said offhandedly. The vampire made a bee-line for the aging black-and-white cat lounging on the bookshelf in front of the living room window.  
  


Giles shook his head as the almost-nightly purring competition began and went back to his paper. It was sad, really. Spike insisted that he and Miss Kitty, who'd come to live with them after Oz issued an ultimatum -- him or the cat -- and he had a bet going on as to which one of them was the better at purring. According to the vampire, Buffy was the judge, but she hadn't ruled in either of their favors yet.  
  


Giles doubted Buffy would ever decide, because that would ruin Spike's game. Giles wasn't sure if Spike knew that on a conscious level, or if it was purely subconscious on his part. Anything was possible with the blond vampire who was no longer fully linked with reality.  
  


Besides, Buffy was dead, which made the decision-making process a tad more difficult.  
  


Giles's gaze shifted to the dishwater-blond man petting the cat and staring out the window into the night. It had been four years since Spike and Oz had escaped from the pseudo-Initiative. Four years since the group finally learned what had happened to Buffy after she and Spike had disappeared one evening while on patrol. Four years of taking care of a vampire who suffered from severe Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome and who was literally the group's last connection to Buffy Summers.  
  


The original Initiative had chipped Spike so he could no longer harm a living creature, and that, in and of itself, was horrible enough. It was wrong and immoral, and Giles had thought that was the worst thing anyone could do to a vampire. He'd been mistaken.  
  


The scientists that had re-banded after the Initiative was demolished embodied the definition of cruel, and what they had done went far beyond immorality. Oz had been lucky. They'd only stimulated his change and froze him between werewolf and human, giving him both the wolf's strengths and the human's control.  
  


Buffy and Spike had been kidnapped and "tested" for months. Then the scientists destroyed them both and created a new warrior out of the remains.  
  


Spike was a demon/machine hybrid, with the heart and blood of the Slayer giving him extra-supernatural strength. The scientists had replaced a large portion of his body with titanium and special plastic tubing that acted as blood vessels. His arms, legs, and upper torso had undergone complete biomechanical changes, including replacing his unbeating heart with Buffy's beating one. His lungs were robotic, providing the necessary functions to keep the Slayer's blood oxygenated. A layer of titanium encircled his neck to make it nearly impossible to sever his head from his body. They had peeled his skin away to do their work, replacing it and letting it heal when they had finished.  
  


Spike never spoke much about what had happened. Giles had learned that the vampire and Buffy'd had a very intense relationship during the months they'd been at the laboratory. Off and on over the years before they'd been kidnapped, the two of them had dated -- 'friends that shagged' was how Spike had classified it -- so their turning to one another hadn't been odd. It explained why part of Spike's post-traumatic psychosis included being able to "see" Buffy. It also gave Giles heart to know that Buffy hadn't been alone in that horrid place and that perhaps her last days had been filled with love.  
  


A loud pop startled Giles out of his reverie, and his gaze focused on where Spike had been sitting. The vampire wasn't there. Rising, the Watcher headed towards the kitchen of the brownstone where the noise had emanated from, a binding spell poised on the tip of his tongue.  
  


"I'm not an idiot!" Spike was hissing as Giles entered the kitchen. The blond stood by the microwave, glaring at the empty space to his right. "I just forgot, all right!"  
  


"Spike?" Giles ventured. "What happened?"  
  


"The blood bag exploded in the microwave," Spike grumbled, giving the machine a glum look. His head whipped to the right again, and he growled, "Sod off, Slayer!"  
  


"No harm, Spike," Giles said soothingly. "Why don't you sit down and I'll prepare your breakfast."  
  


Spike stalked over to the six-person kitchen table, arguing quietly with the invisible Slayer. Giles quickly cleaned the mess and set about warming a new bag of blood, this time pouring into a coffee cup before being putting it into the microwave.  
  


Taking care of Spike wasn't a problem for Giles; in fact, he'd gladly taken on the responsibility. Both literally and metaphorically, inside the vampire was the heart of the woman Giles had loved like a daughter, and Giles wanted to protect it because he'd failed to protect Buffy. Plus, over time, Spike had grown on Giles, becoming like another of the wayward children that chose the Watcher as their adoptive father. It also didn't hurt that Spike was still chipped and unable to harm humans, although the scientists had installed a switch to turn that chip on and off , which only Giles and Willow knew about.  
  


Of his own volition, Spike had returned to patrolling Sunnydale, acting as the current Vampire Slayer. No one outside of the immediate Slayerettes and their Los Angeles compatriots knew of Buffy's death, and only the Slayerettes knew about Spike's new status. Giles wanted to keep it that way. He was still considered Buffy's Watcher under the direction of the Council of Watchers, and he was loathe to sever that connection considering the precarious nature of the Hellmouth. The real Slayer was tightly under the Council's thumb and, as long as Buffy was "alive", she stayed away from Sunnydale.  
  


It wasn't that Giles didn't trust the Slayer to do her duty, he just didn't trust the Council. Allowing the Sunnydale Hellmouth to be under their control was a frightening prospect, one that Giles wanted to avoid. Since the Master, Ness, had opened the Hellmouth over a decade ago, it had become the most powerful lure of evil and, well, the Council of Watchers was not made up of the purest of souls.  
  


Spike, with his enhanced body, could stop almost any demon physically. He was helpless against humans, though, because Giles and Willow were very reluctant to switch off the chip. Having a mentally unstable, soulless super-vampire running around wasn't something they were comfortable with. Because of Spike's vulnerability and his penchant for getting lost, someone always accompanied him on patrols.  
  


"Here you are, Spike," Giles said, placing the mug of blood on the kitchen table.  
  


"Ta," Spike said and picked up the cup. He scowled in the direction of the chair beside him, then mumbled to Giles, "Sorry about the mess."  
  


"It's quite all right," Giles reassured him. Exploding blood in the microwave was a common occurrence in the Giles household, and Spike wasn't the only vampire to cause that to happen.  
  


"Evening," Xander Harris greeted, wandering sleepily into the kitchen. He bypassed Giles and went to the refrigerator. Opening the door, the short-haired brunette bent over and peered inside, scratching his boxer-covered ass as he did so. "Don't we have anything good to eat?"  
  


"The icebox is filled with food, Xander," Giles pointed out, sifting through the mail on the counter.  
  


"Healthy food, Giles," Xander said. "Old man food."  
  


"Are you calling me old?"  
  


Xander looked over at him innocently. "Who me?"  
  


Giles shook his head. The slight tilt to one corner of the young man's mouth was anything but innocent.  
  


The brunette rummaged through the fridge and came up with two containers of blueberry yogurt. He shut the fridge door with his hip, grabbed a spoon from the drawer, and joined Spike at the table. Spike snagged one of the yogurts, opened it, and dumped it into his mug of blood.  
  


"Spike, that's gross," Xander stated as Spike took a large gulp.  
  


"S'good," Spike countered, smacking his lips. He held out the mug to Xander. "Try it."  
  


Xander pulled a face after he took the mug and looked into it. "It looks like melted eyeballs."  
  


"Xander," Giles said exasperatedly.  
  


"Well, it does," Xander said. "The way the blueberries are floating in the white goop and blood..." Giles smacked him across the back of the head with the mail. The brunette grinned at Spike, then slammed back a good mouthful of the concoction.  
  


"So?" Spike inquired.  
  


Xander licked a stray blueberry off his canine, his yellow eyes dancing with humor. "I like eyeballs better."  
  


Giles thanked the Lord when the phone rang, giving him an excuse to leave the kitchen. How he ended up with two mentally deficient vampires in his house was anybody's guess.

 

 **Part Four**  
  


"Giles, we're--" Willow Rosenberg began as she, Tara, and Oz entered the Watcher's brownstone.  
  


"I know it's after three in the bloody morning there!" Giles exclaimed into the phone. "I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important!"  
  


"Giles, have you seen my jacket?" Xander yelled down the stairs. "I can't find it!"  
  


"It's _Boys_ Night Out, Buffy," Spike snapped at a Ficus tree. "Unless you have something dangling between your legs that I don't know about, You. Can't. Go."  
  


"--here," Willow finished weakly. She sent Tara an amused smile. "Looks like everything's normal to me."  
  


"Me, too," Tara said, echoing the grin.  
  


Xander came thundering down the stairs, shoving his arms into his leather jacket. "Got it. Let's go," he said, heading straight for Willow and Tara.  
  


"Bye," Oz said to the girls with a fangy smile. He turned around and headed back out the front door, pulling his dark green ball cap over his shaggy hair.  
  


"Ladies," Xander purred, bypassing them to follow the werewolf.  
  


"Stay," Spike ordered the Ficus tree, and with a swish of his duster stalked out of the house. He slammed the front door behind him.  
  


"Pillock," Giles snarled as he hung up the phone with more vehemence than usual. He looked over at Willow and Tara and waved them into the living room.  
  


"Trouble?" Willow asked, making herself comfortable on the blue couch. Miss Kitty jumped up on the arm and rubbed against Willow's braided red hair. Willow scratched her under the chin. Willow missed Miss Kitty. She'd miss Miss Kitty more, though, if Oz had eaten her like he'd threatened.  
  


"I'm not sure yet," Giles blew out a breath of air, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "I was trying to verify the information, but no one seems to be speaking with me."  
  


"You sounded worried," Tara said from where she perched on the edge of the recliner. "On- on the phone. Earlier, I mean."  
  


"I am worried," Giles confessed, sinking down at the other end of the couch from Willow. "If what I learned is true, it could have devastating effects on us all."  
  


In her mind, Willow heard ominous music to accompany Giles's ominous statement. But, considering Giles said something similar every other week or so, she was pretty sick of hearing the same 'dun-dun-duuuunnnn' over and over again. Her brain needed to learn a new tune.  
  


"I take it that it's not something we can just sic Spike after, huh?" the twenty-nine year old redhead questioned.  
  


Giles shook his head. "I am afraid that Spike would be no use against the Council of Watchers."  
  


Willow's eyes widened and she heard Tara gasp. "The Council? Giles, back-story, now please," Willow said.  
  


"Cordelia phoned me earlier this evening," Giles began. "It seems they've intercepted a message involving the Council's plans to rid the world of demons."  
  


The foreboding concerto in Willow's mind came screeching to a halt. She frowned. "But isn't that a good thing? Demons, bad; no demons, yay?"  
  


"It would seem that way, Willow, but it's not true," Giles said. He leaned forward, sliding his glasses back on. "There is a delicate balance between the demon and the living worlds. An ecosystem, if you will. Without one, the other cannot survive."  
  


"Then why do we fight?" Willow asked, trying to see the logic from another perspective. She fought evil because she wanted people to have a chance to live happy, full lives, and she would continue to fight no matter what. But she was curious as to the grand scheme of things.  
  


"We fight because, if we don't, the world would be overrun by demons," Giles explained. "The balance would then be off--"  
  


"And no one would be alive," Tara finished. She put her hand on Willow's knee. "Plus, not all demons are bad. Like Spike, a-a-and Xander."  
  


Giles snorted indelicately. "You don't have to live with them," he muttered under his breath.  
  


Willow smiled at his comment and brushed Miss Kitty away from her. "So, what's the plan?"  
  


"I'd like you to go on the computer and see if you can enter the Council's files," Giles said. "We're looking for any information regarding whether or not this rumor is true."  
  


"I'm on it," Willow said, rising from the couch and heading over to the computer desk in the corner of the living room.  
  


"While Willow is doing that, I shall continue to try and get in touch with my colleagues overseas," Giles said, returning to the phone. "Tara, if you'd please start searching for possible spells the Council could alter to actually accomplish their goal."  
  


Willow was already logged onto the Internet by the time Tara headed for the bookshelf and Giles returned to the telephone. The Watcher had long ago gotten a cable modem for the computer, making research more quick and efficient for the redhead. Once Giles had resigned himself to the fact that purchasing a computer to aid the Slayer -- Buffy, Before, and now, Spike -- was a good idea, he'd spared no expense and kept it upgraded as the years passed.  
  


Willow pulled up her "Favorites" folder, hoping no one erased her link to the official Council of Watchers site. Amazingly, the Council had joined the twenty-first century, though it posed as a fantasy/horror literary club. The last time Willow had used the computer, her Favorites had been replaced by links to porn sites -- the kind that required passwords to enter. Not that she'd tried to enter them. Nope, not her. Xander was the naughty culprit that time. Or maybe Spike. Or Giles.  
  


An image of an Internet-surfing Giles, with face flushed red and glasses fogged, appeared in Willow's mind. Eep! No, no, no!, she scolded herself, her face as bright as her hair. Giles does not have sex! Giles doesn't even _think_ about having sex! So what if he was a handsome, single bachelor in his fifties? He was _Giles_. Giles was their father, kind of. More than their real dads were, at least.  
  


The image of Naughty Giles was replaced by a much more calming image of Papa Giles. Of Giles, once upon a time, looking at Buffy in exasperation. Of Giles smiling proudly when Willow received her Master's degree in Computer Science. Of Giles being cross with Xander for using an extremely rare book as a tv-dinner tray-table. Of Giles comforting a teary Spike, who'd fallen down the stairs by doing exactly as Giles had repeatedly told him not to, and of Giles not saying 'I told you so' to the vampire.  
  


Willow smiled at the last picture in her mind. It had been so nice of Giles to take Spike in. The blond vampire that had returned from that horrid, awful laboratory wasn't the same vampire who'd disappeared. Spike had been friendly, Before (as they called the period of time prior to Buffy's death), but he'd been cool and aloof. The only person he truly got along with was Buffy, and even their relationship wasn't hearts and flowers.  
  


Now, though, Spike was a kitten. A walking, talking, purring, cuddly, playful kitty-cat that also happened to be a bit mentally unstable. He was still all male, though, Willow thought with a naughty sparkle in her eye. All lean and yummy-looking. She'd debated once or twice... okay, ten or fifteen times, about asking Tara if she wanted to invite that sexy piece of flesh to their bed. But that was before she and Tara had taken Oz in, and before Oz had taken Willow... over and over and over. Then Willow had asked, "What about Tara?", and Oz had promptly screwed her partner to the mattress, when what Willow had wondered was in terms of their relationship...  
  


Blushing again, Willow forced her attention back on her task. Wolfy-loving was beyond super to even think about, but it wouldn't help them solve the new Scooby mystery.  
  


*****  
  


"A nest," Oz's rumbling voice rolled across the opening in the roof to the two vampires crouched on the other side. The half-wolfed man's black gaze roamed over the room beneath them. "Big one."  
  


"What I want to know is: why 'nest'?" Xander asked in a whisper. "It's a pack of wolves and a pride of lions, but a _nest_ of vampires. Oh, how vicious. Makes me think of kerchiefs and knitting needles and complaints of not being able to keep their eggs warm."  
  


"Don't know, pet," Spike said quietly, shifting his weight to gain a better view into the old cemetery church. "You'll have to ask the Watcher that one."  
  


"What's the plan?" Oz asked, returning to the subject at hand. He raised his eyes and looked at his packmates: the puppy and the cur.  
  


Oz's pack consisted of six members: him, the alpha, the pack leader; his mate and her bitch; the puppy; the old one; and the cur. Normally, the cur would have been culled from the pack, left alone to die. The cur was a weakness that could lead to harm for the others. The old one still ran strong and needn't be protected, but the cur was one that required a careful eye. He would have been outed from the pack, but the human part of Daniel 'Oz' Osborne recognized Spike as kin who'd been through the same hell he'd been through and was to be safeguarded at all cost.  
  


The human part of Oz also thought 'pack' was a pretty cool group label, too. Much better than 'nest.'  
  


"I wish Buffy were here," the half-wolf heard Spike murmur. Oz knew the blond wasn't just referring to the real Buffy, but the imaginary one, as well. "The world is a scary place," Spike had once told him, "and Buffy keeps me safe from all the nasties out there." Spike felt that his back was being guarded with her around, even though now she was nothing more than a product of a damaged mind and had no tangibility.  
  


"The plan is for us to go down there and kick some undead booty," Xander said, rubbing his hands together. "I have a hankerin' to see if these nesting vamps can fly."  
  


A slow smile crawled across Spike's face, and his blue eyes twinkled as he met Oz's gaze. "I have an idea..."  
  


*****  
  


The church door crashed open with a well-placed kick, and Spike carried Xander over the threshold, their mouths glued together like they truly were a newly married couple. Oz took up position in the doorway and crossed his arms over his stocky chest.  
  


The vampires in the old church all turned towards the intrusion. Oz estimated there were about twenty-five of them. Not even enough to work up a sweat.  
  


Spike was a quarter of the way inside before he stopped walking and broke the overly hungry kiss. He smiled tenderly at Xander, then seemed to notice the other vampires and acted properly shocked. "Er, hello."  
  


"Oh, honey, it's perfect," Xander said in breathy delight as Spike lowered him to his feet. "An orgy on my wedding night. What more could a girl want?"  
  


"Anything for you, baby," Spike purred, and received an enthusiastic buss on the cheek from the giggling Xander.  
  


Oz winced: Xander giggles, not for sensitive ears.  
  


A heavy-set vampire stepped forward, scowl on his human face. "What is going on here?"  
  


Must be the leader, Oz thought. One side of his fanged mouth quirked. He wouldn't be leader for long.  
  


"Me and my pookey just got maaaried," Xander cooed, running his finger under Spike's chin. He pouted at the leader. "Aren't you going to say congratulations?"  
  


"Right. Congrats," the leader said. "Now, get out, or your honeymoon is going to be real short. This is private property, and you guys are trespassing."  
  


Xander gasped, then turned large eyes and a trembling lower lip on Spike. "No honeymoon?"  
  


"Look what you did!" Spike gathered Xander in his arms, brushing the back of the brunette's short hair. The older vampire glared at the leader. "You made my baby boy cry."  
  


Xander sniffed loudly. Oz rolled his eyes. Sometimes his two packmates were such hams.  
  


Three bulky vampires joined the leader, each wearing a jacket from UC Sunnydale. From where Oz was standing, he could just make out tiny gold boxing gloves stitched into the material of the red coats. He chuckled softly to himself. Boxers. They'd be changing their briefs when Spike was done with them.  
  


"It's okay, princess," Spike comforted, brushing a kiss on Xander's forehead. "You'll get your honeymoon, just as soon as I take care of the mean ol' men."  
  


"You two are sickening," the leader made a disgusted face. "You're vampires, for cripes sake. Act like it."  
  


"Actually," Spike began, releasing Xander, who straightened to his full, imposing height. "We're vampire _slayers_ , but, if you insist..."  
  


Xander took a single step back and stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. Spike put up his fists, the backs of his hands to the four vampires in a mockery of a fighting stance. He wiggled his ass, and Xander whistled appreciatively. Spike glanced over his shoulder, waggled his brows, then returned his focus to the leader. "Can we hurry this up?" the blond prompted. "I wanna shag my darling pillow-biter."  
  


"Stop, you're making me blush," Xander teased.  
  


"Don't say that I didn't give you a chance," the leader told Spike, gesturing to one of the boxers. The olive-skinned, black-haired man walked up to Spike with his fists raised properly, a smug smile on his ridged face.  
  


Oz prepared himself. His job was to make sure no vampires escaped the old church. And they'd all be desperate to escape once Spike went into action.  
  


Spike thumbed his nose and began to bounce. "Right, then," the blond said. "Let's get crackin'."  
  


The olive-skinned boxer took the first swing without warning. Spike jerked back, the other vampire's knuckles brushing the tip of the blond's chin. Spike stopped bouncing immediately, dropped his fists, and stared at the boxer in shock. "You almost hit me!" he exclaimed.  
  


"And this time, there'll be no 'almost'," the boxer stated, his fist already on a path to Spike's face.  
  


Spike's reflexes kicked in and his right arm swung up in a block. The other vampire cried out in shock and pain as his wrist shattered. Then he flew backwards across the church, crashed into the remains of an altar, and laid there in an unconscious heap.  
  


"Neat. They fly," Xander commented. "Maybe 'nest' _is_ appropriate."  
  


The leader growled and gestured, and a second boxer ran towards Spike. Spike's left fist shot out faster than the naked eye could see, and a sickening crunch echoed in the church.  
  


Spike glanced at his hand, then licked the blood-coated knuckles. He made a face and glared at the vampire on the ground. "Steroids, blech. Don't you know those can kill you?"  
  


The boxer twitched in response, a crater where his mouth and nose had been.  
  


The third boxer approached more carefully. Spike stood still, his hands at his sides. He tilted his head to one side and watched the other man with curiosity. A tiny smile appeared on the blond's face, and he thumped his breastbone twice before spreading his arms wide. "One hit, mate, that's all you're getting," he said.  
  


Dread flashed across the beefy vampire's face, but was quickly replaced by angry resolve. The boxer positioned himself, pulled his arm back, and took a hard swing. His fist connected with Spike's chest. The boxer cried out as the bones in his hand were broken to pieces.  
  


Spike didn't so much as blink.  
  


"What _are_ you?" the leader asked in astonished fear.  
  


"I told you..." Spike pivoted into a high round kick, his Doc connecting with the injured boxer's cheek.  
  


A vampire standing at the side of the church caught the boxer's head before it disintegrated to ash.  
  


"...I'm Spike, the Vampire Slayer," Spike finished with a smile.  
  


Instant chaos.  
  


The vampires roared and scattered, some going after Spike and Xander, others fleeing towards the door. Oz snarled at the first vamps to the door, his sharp canines glinting in the candlelight illuminating the church. The stench of fear filled the half-wolf's nostrils, giving him an instant high. Vampires had an aversion to werebeasts, because the vamps knew they were the weaker species. The much, much weaker.  
  


Oz's claws ripped and tore at the flesh of the vampires as they tried to get past him. The scent of blood was cloying, and it inflamed the wolf side of Oz even further. He was getting hungry.  
  


Spike was destroying vampires left and right, leaving piles of blood and bones and ash in his wake. Xander was also holding his own. The puppy had sprinted for the other exit and was staking those that had fled in that direction. He was the least powerful of the three slayers, but he had twelve years of experience under his belt, with ten of those years spent as a mortal fighting to survive in a supernatural world.  
  


Within minutes, the nest of vampires was no more. Oz crouched and ripped the arm off one of the unconscious, injured vampires at his feet. It tasted like chicken.  
  


Happily munching, Oz watched Xander roam the room, staking the fallen vampires. When the brunette reached him and his pile of vampires in the doorway, he offered his packmate a bite. "Er, no," Xander shook his head, "I may be amoral, but I'm not a cannibal."  
  


Oz shrugged. "Your loss."  
  


"Spike, Oz is being disgusting," Xander whined, turning to the blond vampire, who joined them. "Make him stop."  
  


Spike frowned down at Oz. "Wouldn't that taste better with a beer?"  
  


Xander swatted Spike on the back of the head. Spike gave the brunette a deadly look, and Xander began backing away, his hands up in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to swat you."  
  


"But you did," Spike pointed out. He started stalking after Xander like the younger vampire was his prey.  
  


"Yeah, I did," Xander said. "But I'm evil. I do things like that."  
  


"Not to your sire, you don't," Spike stated. "Stop moving."  
  


Xander stopped and swallowed. "Would it help if I apologized in a groveling manner?"  
  


Spike stopped in front of Xander and gave him a wicked grin. "Your mouth will be too occupied to grovel."  
  


Oz tossed the arm over his shoulder and pulled off the second one, keeping an eye on his packmates as they played. Spike was right, he could use a beer. And some pepper.  
  


*****  
  


"Buffy, we're back," Spike said as he, Xander, and Oz entered the brownstone. The blond looked around the living room for the Slayer. Willow, Tara, Giles. No Buffy. Panic seized him, and he hurried towards the kitchen, calling her name again. "Buffy!"  
  


"I'm right here, blind boy," Buffy said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "So, what'cha kill?"  
  


Spike slumped in relief when he saw her, then brightened almost immediately. She was dressed in red and black, his favorite colors. In fact, it was his favorite outfit: tight red leather trousers, tight black v-neck sweater, and black ankle boots. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders, slightly curled.  
  


"We cleared out a nest of vampires," Spike told her, reaching out to capture a lock of her hair. His fingers closed on nothing, and a deep frown of confusion marred his brow. "Then we went to the Bronze and had a beer."  
  


"Sounds like Boys Night Out was fun," Buffy said, smiling at him.  
  


"Spike?" Giles called. "Would you join us, please?"  
  


Buffy walked around Spike, towards the living room, and the blond vampire followed her. He sat at his normal place on the couch, with the Slayer perched on the arm beside him. Xander assumed his usual position at Spike's feet, curling an arm around the older vampire's legs and resting his dark head on Spike's knee. Spike heard a faint rumbling purr coming from the boy.  
  


"What's going on?" Oz asked from the floor. He had taken a similar position as Xander, leaning against Willow's skirt-clad legs. The redhead ran her fingers through the half-wolf's shaggy hair. Oz's eyes were slitted in contentment.  
  


"Trouble with a capital 'C. O. W,'" Willow replied.  
  


"Cow?" Xander said, confused. "Moo-cow cow?"  
  


"Not 'cow,'" Willow said. "'C. O. W.' -- the Council of Watchers."  
  


"They're not coming here, are they?" Oz said, a threatening note in his rumbling voice.  
  


"No," Giles said. "But I would actually prefer it if they were."  
  


"That's not a good sign," Buffy commented.  
  


"No, it's not," Spike agreed. Giles looked questioningly at him. "What did they do this time?"  
  


"They found a way to make demons extinct," Tara answered. She gave Oz a worried look from her place on the couch. "And- and that includes werewolves."  
  


Oz growled loudly, and Willow tried to soothe him. Spike pursed his lips as he met Buffy's wide eyes, and he felt Xander's arm tighten around his legs. He reached out and put a comforting hand on the back of the younger vampire's neck.  
  


"Panicking now won't do us any good," Giles stated when Oz quieted. "There is still time to stop the Council, as long as we keep our heads."  
  


"And take theirs," Buffy added angrily. "Stupid Watchers."  
  


Spike never had any problems with the Council of Watchers and their fight against evil, but he agreed with Buffy. This was just bloody stupid of them. Even he knew there were good, helpful demons in the world.  
  


"I take it you have a plan," Xander said. " _Please_ tell me you have a plan. I died once already, and I really don't want to do it again."  
  


"We have a plan," Willow said. "Sort of. Well, the beginnings of a plan. It's more of a pre-plan than a plan-plan."  
  


"Here is what we know," Giles began. He leaned forward on the edge of his seat and idly wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. "On November 28th, there will be a lunar eclipse of a Blue Moon, one of the rarest of lunar phenomenon. It is on that date when the Council shall go forth with this insanity."  
  


Giles fell silent. After a moment, Buffy said, "That's it? That's what we know?"  
  


The silence continued. Spike took it as a bad sign. He put his hand, palm up, on the arm of the couch beside Buffy, and she laid her tiny hand over his. He tried to close his fingers around her palm, but instead his hand started twitching.  
  


"I take it by the lack of verbage, that's it," Xander said. "We have a date, and possibly a time, nothing more."  
  


"I'm- I'm afraid so," Giles said.  
  


"Great," Xander groaned. "I finally get Allison Krause's phone number, and now I'm gonna die. Unlife isn't fair."  
  


"Allison?" Oz looked impressed. "Cool."  
  


"So, Rupert, I know you have some idea in that brill mind of yours," Spike said, watching his hand spasm. "How are we going to pull this rabbit out of our arses?"  
  


Giles slid on his glasses and looked at Spike's hand. "Tomorrow night, we are going to Los Angeles," he said, removing a mini-toolkit from his breast pocket. "There we will collect, er, Angel and his team, and continue on to England."  
  


"We figured the Council headquarters is where the main event is going to take place," Willow said. "If not, that's where they'd be talking about it the most, and we can find out where from there. Hee, I rhymed... which is not important. Um, we may be able to find out what spell they're using, too, so we can stop it."  
  


Spike winced when Giles punctured his palm with a box cutter and slit his skin. Blood poured from his hand onto the white handkerchief the Watcher held beneath it. "Who's all going?" he asked.  
  


"You, myself," Giles began, separating the folds of skin with the edge of the box cutter. "Oz, Willow, and Xander."  
  


"What about Tara?" Oz said.  
  


"I'm going to watch the store," Tara said, referring to The Magic Box. "And feed Miss Kitty and water the plants, and- and stuff."  
  


The box cutter was replaced by a sixteenth-inch Phillips screwdriver, and Giles carefully tightened a connection wire in Spike's hand. The blond vampire stared gloomily at the metal phalanges entwined with muscle and sinew that had been hidden beneath his skin. That particular electrical connection had always given him a problem, ever since he, Buffy, and Oz had escaped from the laboratory.  
  


"We'd better go home, then," Oz said, rising from the floor. Spike smirked, hearing the unspoken: "So I can give Tara a right good seein' to, so she remembers who she belongs to while we're gone." All right, Spike thought, that was normally more than the wolfman would ever say at one time, but who knew what went on inside his mind? There could be grand orations going on in there.  
  


The wolf and his witches said their goodbyes and tromped out of the house, leaving Giles and the two vampires alone. Giles finished with Spike's hand, folded the flaps of skin back into place, and wrapped it with the blood-soaked handkerchief. "Xander, would you please bandage Spike's hand while I clean up down here?" the Watcher said.  
  


"Sure, Giles," Xander agreed. He stood and lightly smacked Spike on the knee. "C'mon, Spike. I'll let you pick out which band-aid you want."  
  


"Ooh, how about a _Rainbow Warriors_ one?" Buffy said.  
  


"I'm not putting something with rainbows on my hand, Slayer," Spike told her, following Xander towards the stairs. "Especially not little pixies in rainbow costumes."  
  


"What about _Superkids_?" Buffy asked.  
  


"And not little pixies who wear their knickers outside their tights, either."  
  


**Part Five**  
  


How could he sleep?, Xander wondered for the fiftieth time. They were on their way to Los Angeles to see people they hadn't seen in four years. People that they'd fought evil with. People they'd grown up with. People they'd groped in a broom closet. Bleyagh.  
  


Spike snuffled, shifted, and continued sleeping. Xander sighed, laying a hand on the blond's thigh, and returned to looking out the window at the passing highway. He still didn't understand how Spike could sleep, considering the people they were going to see didn't know he was half-Slayer, half-lunatic. Or that Oz was half-Oz, half-wolf. Or that Xander was a half-horny vampire.  
  


It had been two years since Xander had become a member of the undead, which, given, was better than being dead-dead. He had a soul, courtesy of the super-witches, but it did come complete with happiness clause. Not that Xander was worried about achieving that moment of true bliss, at least not for a long while. The woman that had made him the happiest man in the universe had left the moment he'd sprouted fangs. A week later, he'd received the divorce papers from Anya in the mail. He hadn't even known vampires could get divorced.  
  


If Xander did manage to break his curse, though, Wonder Willow would simply slap his soul back on him like the good friend she was. That was, if he didn't kill her first. He doubted that would happen, though, not with Spike holding the sire reigns.  
  


Technically, Spike wasn't Xander's sire. Nope, Xander had managed to get munched by a random vampire the day after his twenty-seventh birthday. But before he had been able identify the burning inside him when he'd first awoke, Willow and Tara had returned his soul and Spike had declared himself sire.  
  


Xander looked over at Spike and smiled fondly. Spike had taught him the three F's of vampirism: feeding, fighting, and fucking. Feeding was the easiest: pop a hole in a blood bag or a container of blood, put it in the microwave for 25 seconds, and voila -- dinner was served. Well, unless the hole-part of the instructions had been forgotten; then dinner was exploded all over the interior of the microwave.  
  


Fighting was fun. Xander was so much stronger than he'd been as a human. Quicker. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, maybe not that, but he could jump really high, and speeding bullets couldn't kill him.  
  


The last F -- fucking -- was the best. Xander had learned entirely new meanings for the words 'one-night stand', 'foreplay', and 'sir.' He'd also had sex with more partners in the past two years than he'd had the past ten before that... which wasn't too hard to do, considering he'd lost his virginity to one girl, then married the second girl he'd ever slept with.  
  


Another new act in the Xander Sexcapades had been getting it on with another guy. It hadn't mattered that he was souled: the moment Spike had said, "Let's fuck," Little Xander had stood up and saluted. Vampires, Xander had learned, loved sex. He was half-hard practically 24/7. If it had a hole, a vampire fucked it, and that included men, women, and indeterminable... although Xander drew the line at farm animals. He wasn't from Indiana.  
  


According to Spike, sex between sire and childe was second only to sex between mates. There was a bond that was present in both instances that couldn't be duplicated outside those relationships. Xander knew it was true, because he'd felt it. Sex with Spike was like burying himself in a warm, wooly blanket on a rainy fall afternoon, with a box of chocolate-covered cherries within arm's reach. A bit of Heaven for a Hellspawn creature.  
  


Xander wondered what it would be like to have sex with a mate. Of course, he'd first have to get himself a mate before he could find out. It wasn't unheard of for sire and childe to become mates, but Xander knew that wasn't going to happen. He loved Spike, but like a brother. And hello, incestuousness! Maybe he was from Indiana after all.  
  


The van pulled to a stop outside of a five-storey hotel with a faded-stone facade. One of the wings looked to be crumbling and uninhabitable. A convertible, a truck, and a motorcycle were parked along the circular drive.  
  


Xander nudged Spike awake before climbing out of the van. "Wow," he said, staring at the hotel. "Angel has his office in a hotel?"  
  


"Angel owns the hotel," Willow said as she joined him on the sidewalk. "When Cordelia e-mailed the directions, she said Angel used to live here in the 50's and that's why he bought it."  
  


"Probably a guilt thing," Xander said. He took a purposeful breath and started for the double doors. "I'll let them know we're here."  
  


The lobby looked like something out of a movie. Wide open room, Parque black and white tile floor, stone columns, red-carpeted stairs. Xander expected some well-dressed old movie star to come walking through at any moment. Or dance through, like Fred and Ginger.  
  


"I'll be just a second," a voice floated to Xander from the marble registration counter. Xander's dark brows rose as he crossed the lobby. A haunted hotel? Why wasn't he surprised.  
  


Xander leaned against the rounded counter and tried to see over the other side. "Hello?"  
  


"Hi!" The chipper greeting was followed by a familiar female popping up from behind the counter, reminding Xander of a piece of toast. "Welcome to Angel-- Xander!"  
  


"That's me," Xander smiled widely. "Hello, Cordeli--aaah!"  
  


Cordelia practically hauled him over the counter as she gave him a brief hug. "It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, releasing him. Then she promptly smacked him on the arm. "Thanks for not calling or writing or IM-ing for however-many-years."  
  


Xander blinked several times and rubbed his arm. "Er... sorry?"  
  


"You'd better be," Cordelia said. She leaned on the counter. "So, tell me, how are you? You look good, which is a surprise. Did Anya dress you?"  
  


Xander's smile returned. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. "I'm good, I dressed myself, thank you very much, and Anya and I are divorced."  
  


Cordelia's dark eyes widened in sympathy. "Oh, Xander, I'm sorry. Was it a bad divorce? Mine was awful."  
  


"You were married?"  
  


"For a year," Cordelia replied with a nod. Then she scowled. "Then, like an idiot, Matt went and got vamped. I tried to make it work, with Angel's help, but Matt kept trying to kill me. So I divorced him."  
  


"Yeah," Xander said with a fake laugh. "My divorce was similar." He quickly changed the subject. "That's a nice tattoo. Does it work?"  
  


"Xander, come help with the soddin' bags."  
  


Xander turned and saw Spike struggling through the front door, loaded down with the Scooby gang's luggage. The brunette vampire felt his protective anger flare. Spike may have extraordinary strength, but he shouldn't be treated like a damn packhorse. "Who made you take all these?" he growled, taking several bags from his sire.  
  


Spike gave Xander a puzzled look. "Made me take all of what?"  
  


"The luggage," Xander grumbled, leading Spike further into the lobby.  
  


"What about the luggage?"  
  


Xander stopped, put the bags down, and faced Spike. The blond vampire was looking around the lobby in amazement. Xander sighed. Spike had been distracted. Trying to get a direct answer out of him now would be futile.  
  


"Cor, pet, will you look at this place," Spike said in wonder, dropping the luggage in his arms. "'S'bleedin' huge."  
  


"I'll go get Angel and the others," Cordelia called over to Xander. Xander acknowledged her with a nod, and she disappeared through a pair of double doors.  
  


Spike wandered around the lobby, his expression like a little kid's as he examined at everything. Oz, Willow, and Giles entered the hotel, conversing quietly. Xander scowled and stalked over to them. "All right, which one of you turned Spike into a pachyderm?"  
  


"Spike's an elephant?" Willow said, craning her neck to see around the brunette.  
  


"No," Xander put his hands on his hips, "I meant, who made him carry all the bags?"  
  


"He took them himself, Xander," Giles said.  
  


"We told him not to, but he insisted," Willow added. "And you know how he can be if he doesn't get his way."  
  


Xander sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face. Yes, he knew exactly how Spike could be if he didn't get his way, and they so did not need that right now. Not when they were estranged relatives visiting the L.A. family.  
  


"Xander, as I was explaining to Willow and Oz outside," Giles began, his voice lowered. "We all need to keep an extra-careful eye on Spike. He has not been out of Sunnydale since... since...," he struggled for a word, "...since his ordeal, and I'd rather not go chasing him around Los Angeles if it can be avoided."  
  


"Understood, Giles," Xander said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Spike chattering away with the non-existent Buffy. "What are we going to tell them?" The close-knit friends knew which 'them' Xander was speaking about without question.  
  


"Nothing," Oz grunted, a set expression on his partially furred face.  
  


Great, Xander thought. Oz had assimilated. The wolf was in control, and the wolf fiercely protected what was his. Giles may be the father-figure of their wacky family, but Oz was the leader of the pack. Heh, Xander mentally snorted. Leader of the Pack. Funny.  
  


"We will tell them as little as we have to," Giles said. The Watcher straightened his posture suddenly, looking past Xander's shoulder. "Here they are."  
  


Yep, there they were. Xander stared across the lobby at the group that had gathered by the registration counter. Cordelia, Angel, Wesley, and Gunn. Four practical strangers.  
  


This was going to be such fun.  
  


*****  
  


Hooray, they're here, Angel thought sarcastically as he looked across the lobby. Batten the hatches and hide the women and liquor, the invaders have arrived.  
  


He watched as the four on the stairs moved closer together, Oz stepping slightly in front of the others. Classic protective maneuvering. Angel was surprised that Oz was acting as the alpha, though. If anyone, it should have been Giles. Angel would have to puzzle out why the change in dynamics later.  
  


"Welcome to the Hyperion," Angel said, his softly worded greeting easily carrying across the lobby. "We've prepared rooms for you on the third floor. Would you like to freshen up, first, before we get started?"  
  


He knew he sounded stilted and formal, but he'd promised Wesley he'd be on his best behavior. He'd much rather tell them to shove off and find someplace else to stay. The hotel was _his home_ , damn it. Why couldn't someone talk him out of putting them up?  
  


"Oi! Rupert!" Angel heard shouted from the library. "You've got to see all the bloody books!"  
  


Angel had never seen the old man move so fast. He'd barely identified the voice as Spike's, and Giles was already three-quarters of the way across the lobby. That set Angel instantly on alert. He went to follow Giles into the library, only to find his way suddenly blocked by Oz.  
  


A growling half-wolfed Oz.  
  


Angel stared down at the short man in surprise. "Oz?"  
  


"We'll freshen up, first," Oz said, his lips curled back in a warning snarl, exposing his sharp teeth. "If you don't mind."  
  


What the hell?, Angel wondered, felling his hackles raise. He opened his mouth to tell the werewolf off, when Wesley slid smoothly between them.  
  


"We don't mind at all, do we Angel?" Wesley stepped down on Angel's foot -- hard.  
  


"Ow-ah, no," Angel covered up, glaring at the back of Wesley's head. "Cordelia and Gunn will show you up. Come get me when you're ready. I'll be in my office."  
  


Pivoting on his heel, Angel stalked across the lobby and into his office. He went directly to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured himself a large glass of scotch.  
  


So, Spike had come, too, Angel thought, downing a good portion of his drink. The last time he'd seen his errant childe had been four years ago, when Angel had returned to Sunnydale for Buffy's funeral.  
  


"To you, Buff," Angel toasted, rasing his glass. He finished off the scotch, then poured himself another. He missed Buffy, but her passing no longer hurt. Time had a funny way of healing even the most vicious wounds.  
  


When Buffy had first gone missing, Angel had been frantic with worry, despite not having had any sort of relationship with her for years. The news of her death had almost killed him. He'd survived, though. He'd grieved for weeks, then walled up his heart so he'd never hurt like that again. Thus far, it had worked.  
  


Angel sank down in the black leather chair and propped his feet on the edge of the desk. "Spike, Spike, Spike," he murmured. The few minutes he'd seen Spike at Giles's house before Buffy's funeral, the blond vampire hadn't even acknowledged Angel's presence. Spike had simply stared off into space, holding one of Buffy's shirts.  
  


Angel knew Spike had worked with Buffy before her death and assumed, since he was here, that he'd continued to help the remaining Slayerettes. Then again, what else could Spike do with that chip in his head? If he still had it, which Angel figured he did because he was still with the others and not a dust pile somewhere.  
  


Did Angel care that Spike had come? No, as long as he didn't annoy Angel, Spike could do the Can-Can naked in the lobby if he wanted.  
  


Hmm, what an interesting picture, Angel thought, a corner of his mouth turning up. The Spike dancing across Angel's brain gained an orange feather boa and three-inch blue platform heels. The amused smirk grew.  
  


A knock at his office door broke into Angel's kinky thoughts and the dark-haired vampire glanced over to see Gunn standing there. "You're being summoned," the African-American said. "The Great Wes-leenie has gathered the flock in the library and 'awaits your esteemed presence.'"  
  


"My 'esteemed presence'?" Angel said with a quirk of his brow.  
  


"That's a direct quote," Gunn told him. "I would've just said to get your fat white ass to the library."  
  


"My ass is not fat," Angel stated as he followed Gunn out of the office.  
  


Gunn snorted. "If you don't believe me, ask the Double D's," he said. He glanced at Angel. "Speaking of, where'd you stash the fanged bitches for the night?"  
  


"They're probably with Lindsey and Lilah," Angel said. "I warned them the others were coming, but didn't say they had to leave." His tone became hard. "This is our home, and I'm not going to let anyone be put out."  
  


Gunn held his hands up. "Chill, boyo. I wasn't the one to suggest they stay here."  
  


No, that was Angel's own fault. He wanted to be able to leave on time tomorrow afternoon, and it was easier if everyone was already gathered in one place.  
  


Angel entered the library behind Gunn and let his gaze wander over the occupants of the richly paneled room. Wesley and Giles were both standing ramrod straight, undoubtably discussing Watcherly things. Willow was curled in a corner of the buttery brown leather couch, paging through an old book. Oz, who was still partially wolfed, was perched on the arm of the couch beside her.  
  


Gunn joined Cordelia and Xander, who were seated at a small round table with a map spread out on the surface. Angel narrowed his eyes. Xander kept glancing at Cordelia with a decidedly hungry look on his face. Angel vowed to tell the boy to keep his mitt's off, and he let his gaze move on to the last occupant of the room -- Spike... who was looking through a kaleidoscope right back at him.  
  


Spike waved. Angel hesitantly waved back. Spike... giggled?  
  


Conversation halted, and the Los Angeles crew stared at Spike. Giles quickly walked over to where the vampire was seated, bent down, and whispered in his ear. Spike lowered the kaleidoscope, nodded, and pretended to zip his lips. Then he reached out to the left and zipped the air.  
  


The behavior would have been totally baffling to Angel if it had actually registered in his mind. But it hadn't. He was too busy staring at Spike's hair.  
  


_William_.  
  


Spike had hated that name, and Angelus had insisted on calling him that. The older vampire had thought it much more dignified than being named after a dog. Angelus had also liked the name because it ended in a breathy hum, just as William had done when he'd climax, every time they'd made love. _William_.  
  


"Now that Angel is here, shall we begin?" Wesley's authoritative voice snapped Angel out of his daze. The dark-haired vampire took two steps towards Spike and found his path, once again, blocked, this time by Xander.  
  


Xander had yellow eyes.  
  


Angel didn't think he could take any more surprises. "You're a vampire."  
  


"You're a vampire?" Cordelia gasped.  
  


"Another one?" Gunn groaned. "Man, Angel, don't you know anyone that's human?"  
  


"I'm human," Willow pipped.  
  


"As am I," Giles added. "Now, if we could please dispense with the trivialities, I would like to decide on our plan of action before the plane takes off tomorrow."  
  


Man needed to switch to decaf, Angel thought, dropping the "Xander Is A Vampire" revelation for now and retreating to a shadowy corner of the room. Or Giles needed to get laid, Angel continued thinking. He seemed to be wound tighter than Wes.  
  


Spike suddenly giggled again, and Angel was stunned once more. It wasn't so much a giggle as it was a purely non-jaded laugh, an amused sound that Angel had only ever heard children make.  
  


Giles gave the blond vampire a scolding look, and Spike grinned. "Well, it's true," Spike said.  
  


"Spike, it's quiet time, remember?" Giles said in a low voice.  
  


Spike scowled. "Don't talk to me like I'm wearing nappies, Rupert."  
  


Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do apologize," he said. "I am simply tired and wish to get this meeting underway."  
  


"'S'okay, Rup," Spike said. "We'll be quiet," he looked to his left and addressed the air, "right?"  
  


Angel stared at the empty spot Spike had addressed. Did they pick up a ghost when he wasn't looking?  
  


"Here, I'll start," Willow said, closing the tenth century dictionary/thesaurus she was looking at with a thump. Giles sat down on the arm of Spike's chair as the redhead reviewed what the Angel crew had been told over the phone. From the corner, Angel watched as Spike put a hand on Giles's leg and squeezed. Giles glanced down at the blond and gave him a tired, but wholly affectionate, smile.  
  


Angel suddenly had the desire to wipe the smile off the Watcher's face. That was _his_ William in that chair...  
  


Wait, no, _Spike_. Not William -- Spike. William didn't exist anymore. Just his hair did.  
  


Angel folded his arms over his chest, his lower lip thrust in a pout. Darla was back. Dru was back. Why couldn't William come back, too? They could be a family again. Blood and sex and violence... and guilt and madness and despair.  
  


Didn't he recently say that he hated his soul?  
  


"--Angel?"  
  


"Huh?" Angel blinked and found eight sets of eyes on him. He took a defensive step back further into the shadows. "What?"  
  


"I asked if there was anything you wished to add," Wesley said, grinning knowingly at him.  
  


Why hadn't he killed Wes yet? Angel shook his head. "No, I trust you covered everything."  
  


"Cool," Gunn said, standing. "Then I am outta here. Check ya tomorrow."  
  


"Give me a ride?" Cordelia asked, rising from her seat.  
  


"You got it, pretty lady," Gunn said. "Bye, all."  
  


Cordelia gave Xander a long, pitying look, then left with Gunn. Angel saw Xander clench his jaw, then carefully start to fold the map in front of him.  
  


"Willow and I are going to bed," Oz announced, holding the redhead's hand. "Goodnight."  
  


They left the library, with Wesley right behind them. Angel emerged from the shadows, walked over to where Xander was sitting, and placed his hands on the back of a chair. "Tell me about Oz," he demanded, his tone brooking no argument.  
  


Giles simply looked at him in response.  
  


"Xander?" Angel said.  
  


"Me, vampire. You, vampire. Spike, vampire," Xander grunted. He raised his head, his ridges emphasized by the desk lamp on the table. "That clear things up for you?"  
  


"Xan," Spike said in warning. "Play nice."  
  


Xander stood and abruptly left the room.  
  


Giles sighed, replaced his glasses, and stood. "Come along, Spike. We have a busy day tomorrow."  
  


Spike jumped to his feet, as if someone stuck him with a cattleprod, and pattered behind Giles to the door. He paused there, and looked back at Angel. "You," he pointed with the kaleidoscope, "need to do something with your hair." He waved the kaleidoscope above his head. "Too much up top. The Slayer says it makes you looks like a Chia-pet."  
  


"Spike," Giles called.  
  


"Night, ducks," Spike said to Angel and left the library.  
  


Angel stared dumbly at the space Spike had occupied for a very long time. Then he put hand to his head and self-consciously touched his hair.  
  
  
  


*****  
  
  
  


"Listen," Drusilla cupped her ear, walking further into the lobby of the Hyperion, close to dawn. "Do you hear it?"  
  


"Hear what?" Lilah asked.  
  


Drusilla faced her lover... such a sweet, sweet lover, all covered in blood... and clapped her hands. "The Lost Boy has come for a visit. Tinkerbell's dust rings as it falls around him."  
  


"Dru, you know I can't hear like you can." Lilah linked her arm through the vampiress's and started for the elevators. "That's why you're so special."  
  


"Yes, I am," Drusilla agreed with a wicked grin. "I see the naughty thoughts dancing about your head."  
  


Lilah leaned closer, her breath warm against Drusilla's cheek. "We'll be dancing for real in a few minutes."  
  


The elevator door opened, and the two women stepped inside. Lilah pushed the button for the fourth floor. The moment the doors closed, Drusilla pushed Lilah up against the green-painted elevator wall and covered the other woman's mouth with her own. Drusilla felt Lilah's hands slide under the long velvet coat she wore, tickling her in a delightful way.  
  


L was for lemons all cut up, Drusilla thought as the elevator dinged and she moved away from Lilah. I was for ice cream, shivery cold. The vampiress led the way down the hall to her room. L was for licking, like big jungle cats. "Meowrrrr," Drusilla pretended to roar.  
  


Lilah laughed softly, pushed open Drusilla's door, and pulled the vampiress inside. Drusilla continued her song in her mind as she shed her coat. A was for Angel... Drusilla gasped and put her hand to her forehead. "A is for Angel..."  
  


Lilah came closer as Drusilla started to sway. "Angel what, Dru?"  
  


"A is for Angel...," Drusilla repeated. She stopped swaying and slowly smiled. "He's found a new old toy to play with, and they're going to make such lovely screams."  
  


"Is that it?" Lilah brushed Drusilla's hair back from her face. "Angel's going to have sex?" The taller woman frowned. "He's not going to lose his soul, is he? If so, I need to call--"  
  


"Shh, shh, shh," Drusilla put her finger over Lilah's lips. "No more talking."  
  


Lilah smiled and nipped the vampiress's finger.  
  


There was no more talking.  
  


 

 **Part Six**  
  


David Nabbitt's limo was going to arrive at six a.m. to take everyone to the airport. From there, they were going to fly on David Nabbitt's private, sun-proofed plane to New York, and then on to England, landing in Heathrow at around midnight, local time.  
  


That was the plan, anyway.  
  


Gunn leaned against the registration counter, watching the circus with an amused smile on his face. It was already half-past six in the morning and the Ghostbusters were still running around the hotel like headless chickens. Near the front doors, a pile of luggage sat waiting for their owners to get on the road. It didn't look like that'd be any time soon.  
  


It was loud in the lobby with everyone speaking at once. Cordelia was pointedly ignoring that Xander kid as she chatted overly brightly with the redhead. Xander, for his part, was being equally as obnoxious while speaking with that furry dude. Wesley and the old guy, Giles, were at it again, bickering like they were on a rerun of _The Odd Couple_. Angel looked like he was about to eat everyone. Lilah was trying to sneak by the group without being seen, with Drusilla exaggeratedly tiptoeing behind her.  
  


Gunn was on the attorney in a second, grasping her by the back of the neck and pulling her to a quick halt. He cleared his throat loudly. "AHEM! Yo, Angel!" The lobby quieted, and Gunn sent up a mental prayer of thanks before addressing tall, dark, and undead. "Look who decided to pay us a visit."  
  


Lilah gave Angel an uncomfortable smile. "Good morning, Angel."  
  


"Lilah," Angel greeted tonelessly.  
  


"What do you want me to do with her?" Gunn asked.  
  


"Stick her in the limo," Angel directed. He gave Lilah a smirk. "She's coming with us."  
  


"What?" Lilah tried to shake Gunn off. "I am not going anywhere with you."  
  


"Think happy thoughts," Drusilla said. "Or you won't be able to fly."  
  


"Angel," Giles said, frowning at the vampire. "We are on a- a mission of some importance--"  
  


"One that Lilah knows all about, don't you?" Angel's brow arched, daring her to lie.  
  


Lilah ground her teeth together, but answered haughtily, "It's my job to know."  
  


"I thought your job was to scrape the shit off Lindsey's shoes," Cordelia said sweetly.  
  


"Gunn," Angel nodded towards the door.  
  


"C'mon, sweetheart," Gunn said, forcing Lilah towards the exit. "I know you've ridden in limos before, but have you ever been in the trunk?"  
  


Drusilla stepped between them and the door. She wagged her finger at Gunn. "Bad boy. You cannot take my Lilah away."  
  


"Angel, your crazy daughter is blockin' the door," Gunn said.  
  


"Dru, move," Angel ordered.  
  


"But, Angel...," Drusilla began, then gasped, staring wide-eyed in the direction of the stairs to the second floor.  
  


Gunn looked over his shoulder with a frown. That blond vampire -- Spike, Gunn thought his name was -- was standing at the top of the stairs. Big whoop.  
  


Spike sat on the brass handrail in the center of the stairs, put his arms out for balance, and promptly slid down it. He landed on his feet at the bottom. Gunn was slightly impressed. It was pretty tricky to pull that off.  
  


"Spike, I've told you not to do that," Giles chastised as the blond joined the group.  
  


"Have not," Spike said. "You told me not to _run_ down the stairs, not slide down 'em."  
  


"I stand corrected," Giles said dryly.  
  


"Spike?"  
  


Spike looked in Gunn's direction, surprise etched on his face. "Dru?"  
  


Gunn had a feeling there was something about to happen, and he moved out of the way, pulling Lilah with him. It was the correct thing to do. Spike rushed over to Drusilla, picked her up by the waist, and spun her in a circle. She was laughing, he was laughing, Gunn was going to hurl from the sweetness of it.  
  


Gunn immediately felt Lilah tense under his grip. The threat of being kidnapped or locked in a truck didn't get to her, but a sickening reunion scene did? And did she just growl?  
  


"The air swirls in confusion," Drusilla said with awe as Spike set her on her feet. She looked at the area above his head. "Such pretty colors, twisting and twining like snakes in the grass."  
  


Spike looked at the stone column to his left and smirked. "Jealous, pet?"  
  


Drusilla put her hand on Spike's chest, her eyes narrowing in anger. "Your heart belongs to the Slayer."  
  


Giles was beside the two vampires in an instant. "I think it was time we were underway," he said, taking Spike by the arm.  
  


Drusilla stared at her hand over Spike's heart. "Screams and pain. The little lamb sent to the butcher. The Tin Man made from scratch. But he always had a heart -- the Slayer's heart. Pumping and beating and it hurts very much." Her eyes snapped up and she stared right at Spike. "You were awake when they cut you and peeled your skin off like a grape."  
  


Gunn had no clue what the looney meant, but obviously the people from Sunnydale did, and it was bad. Willow gasped in horror and the wolf snarled. Xander vamped and was prevented from attacking Drusilla by the Watcher dude grabbing his arm. The Watcher also looked like he was going to be sick, and Spike was... yelling at the stone column.  
  


Gunn shook his head. He hooked up with the strangest people. Somehow it was all Angel's fault, too.  
  


"Of course I didn't bloody tell you!" Spike was ranting. "Do you think I _want_ to remember what they did?"  
  


If the stone column responded vocally, Gunn was leaving and never coming back.  
  


Drusilla started to laugh, and Xander went wild. The wolf shot out of nowhere, snagging Xander around the waist and hauling him away from the vampiress before he could pummel her. Giles stumbled when the wolf darted past him, but he was caught before he fell by Wesley. The redhead was attempting to calm Spike down. Lilah tried to squirm out of Gunn's hold with the distraction, but he yanked her back against him.  
  


"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" Angel suddenly roared in his 'I'm going to rip out everyone's spleens any second now' voice.  
  


"I'll answer that," Cordelia spoke up in the abrupt silence. "The world is going to end in less than a week, and we're still going to be standing here in the lobby reenacting a scene from _One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest_."  
  


"Cordelia's right," the wolf said, releasing Xander. "We can discuss things on the plane. Xander, take Spike to the limo. Giles, Willow, and I will get the bags."  
  


Damn, Gunn thought as he watched the others followed the wolf's directions. Never underestimate short guys. "What about the lawyer?" Gunn asked, turning to Angel for instruction.  
  


"She's still coming with. Put her in the limo," Angel sighed.  
  


"May I come, Angel?" Drusilla said.  
  


Angel looked heavenward and mouthed something that looked like: "You really hate me, don't you?" The taller vampire sighed again and nodded. "Yes, Dru, you can come, too, as long as you promise to listen to me."  
  


Drusilla scampered to her sire and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Daddy," she said demurely. Then she danced up to Gunn and Lilah and smiled. It was a very non-innocent one, and it was directed at the lawyer.  
  


Gunn shook his head and pushed Lilah towards the door. Vampires and attorneys, he thought. Which one was the soulless monster in that relationship?  
  


*****  
  


Spike watched Giles's hands with a frown on his face. "I can buckle my own belt, you know," he said.  
  


"I know," Giles said, tightening the seat belt around Spike's waist. "Just humor me."  
  


"Are you going to buckle me in, too?" Buffy asked from the seat beside Spike.  
  


Spike leered at her. "I'll buckle you in."  
  


"I bet you will."  
  


"There," Giles said. He gave Spike a stern look. "Don't leave your seat unless you ask me first, understand?"  
  


"Yes, Dad," Spike agreed with a roll of his eyes. Buffy giggled.  
  


Giles stepped into the aisle, pulled a backpack out of the overhead compartment, and passed it to the blond vampire. "You should have plenty to do--"  
  


"Rupert," Spike said with exasperation. "Stop being a nanny. I've been in a plane before."  
  


"Right." Giles gave him a half-smile and went to take his own seat.  
  


"When was the last time you were in a plane?" Buffy asked.  
  


"When I was at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, back in '84," Spike said with a wink. "They have a lovely aircraft exhibit."  
  


She chuckled. "Thought so."  
  


He stowed the backpack under the seat in front of him, then reached over to buckle her seat belt. He could hear the engines warming up and he wished there were windows. Then again, if there were windows, a pile of ash would be taking its first plane ride, rather than him.  
  


David Nabbitt's private jet reminded Spike of a posh living room rather than an airplane. There were tables, couches, bookshelves, telephones, a fax machine, a television and VCR, even a bar. The interior was gold and white, the carpeting was soft, and the seats were leather. Two rows of six pairs of regular plane seats lined the rear half of the jet. The galley and the restroom were in the front, by the pilot's cabin. Except for the one on the door, all the windows had been blacked-out, fitted with special covers that blocked any light from entering the plane.  
  


Spike had chosen to sit in the last seat on the right side of the jet, with the Slayer beside him. He didn't want to be bothered by the others, especially Drusilla. She'd brought up things that he'd wanted to forget about forever. Things that he didn't even share with Buffy -- and he told her everything.  
  


The blond vampire looked down at his hand and wiggled his fingers. They looked so real. No one would ever guess they were metal, not bone. He squeezed his wrist and on up his arm, feeling the titanium beneath the skin and muscle.  
  


Giles and his other friends didn't think Spike understood what had happened to him, but he knew. He had been conscious for a large portion of what those scientists did to him. He'd heard them talking about him like he was a thing, not a living creature... as living as a vampire could be. He'd screamed when they'd taken Buffy away.  
  


Spike pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. His chest expanded and relaxed with each breath the robotic lungs forced him to take. He rested his chin on his upraised knees and closed his eyes. If he concentrated, he could hear Buffy's heart beating. He liked hearing it. It reminded him that he wasn't alone. He was afraid of being alone. The scientists came back for him when he was alone.  
  


"I think Angel cut his hair," Buffy said out of the blue.  
  


Spike opened his eyes, turned his head, and rested his cheek on his knee. "You think?"  
  


"Yeah," she nodded. "You noticed, too. I saw you staring at him in the limo like he was a piece of French chocolate."  
  


"Was not."  
  


"Were, too," Buffy grinned. "You think he looks yummaliscious."  
  


"I think he looks like Betty Boop," Spike corrected.  
  


"You get hard for Betty Boop?" she teased.  
  


Spike scowled. "Sod off."  
  


Buffy leaned over and looked up the aisle. "And here I thought you hated Betty."  
  


"Nah," Spike said. "T'was simply a mask to cover the jealousy and hurt I felt from the ponce choosing you over me." He grinned at her dumbfounded look. "I called in to 'Ask Dr. Mercator' once, and that's what she told me."  
  


"Ah," she nodded. "That makes more sense."  
  


"Thanks a lot, Slayer," he said sarcastically.  
  


Buffy shrugged. "We both know that you're not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. Not anymore, at least." She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. "There's also been talk about you being...," she pointed her finger at her temple and moved it in a small circle.  
  


Spike sighed. "I probably am," he admitted. "In fact, it's more than bloody likely."  
  


"Well, don't worry," Buffy said. "I still love you, even if you are a gibbering looney."  
  


He gave her a tender smile. "I know."  
  


The jet's engines grew louder and the plane started to move. Spike closed his eyes again and squeezed his legs tighter to his chest. He started to hum. He was not going to admit it out loud, but he was scared. Really scared. Scared that he was too heavy and the plane would break open and he'd plummet to the ground and he didn't have a parachute and he'd crash through the earth and come out the other side and be cast adrift in outer space and Buffy couldn't live in outer space because she needed to breathe and he'd be alone...  
  


"Hey, hey, hey," a familiar male voice cooed. Arms closed around Spike's shoulders and knees, and he heard a soft purr under his humming. "It's okay, sire. It's okay."  
  


Xander's concerned dark gaze met Spike's when he opened his eyes. Spike couldn't feel the plane moving anymore, but he could still hear the engines clearly. He swallowed and whispered, "Are we in the air?"  
  


The younger vampire nodded. "Did you know that airplanes are one of the safest forms of travel?" he began. "It doesn't seem like it, because when they do... er, the news covers accidents -- not that we're going to have an accident! David Nabbitt doesn't buy cheap stuff. And, uh, anyway, the media doesn't cover the millions of car accidents a day because then no one would drive, and then the traffic report people would be out of a job..."  
  


Spike laughed and leaned into Xander's partial embrace. "You're a good childe, Xander."  
  


"Really?"  
  


Spike lifted his head and looked the boy in the eyes. "Yes, really. I'm proud of you."  
  


Xander's smile was bashful, but huge. He was practically lit up from the inside. "Um, do- do you want something to, um, eat?" he stammered.  
  


"No, I'm fine," Spike said. Xander's eyes darkened in concern again and the blond half-smiled. "Planes are the safest form of travel," he repeated.  
  


"Yep," Xander gave him a quick squeeze, stood, and wandered back to the front of the plane.  
  


Spike went to watch him go... and fell headlong into his own sire's amber gaze. Angel stared at him over the tops of the seats from across the jet. A burning sensation started in Spike's toes and slowly engulfed his body from the heady stare.  
  


Angel looked away first, his attention drawn by someone else, and Spike slumped in his seat. Across the aisle, Buffy snickered. The blond vampire scowled at her. "What?"  
  


"You don't have a hard on for Betty, huh?" she said.  
  


"Bite me, Buffy."  
  


Buffy's eyes twinkled devilishly. "Nah. I think Angel would enjoy biting you more."  
  


*****  
  


Angel knew he wasn't being told everything, and it was pissing him off.  
  


Oh, they told him why Oz was half-wolfed and how Xander became a vampire. But every time he tried to steer the conversation to Spike, they'd change the subject. The only thing Angel knew was that Spike had delineated himself Xander's sire, he lived with Giles, and something had happened to him at the laboratory Buffy had died in -- and that he'd learned from Drusilla.  
  


Why was information being held back?, Angel wondered, watching Xander and Spike together. What made the four from Sunnydale jump every time Spike said or did something? Why were they so protective of him? What had caused Spike to hum so loudly it had drowned out the jet's engines, until Xander had gone to him?  
  


Frustrated, Angel dragged a hand over his newly shorn hair. It was currently flat against his head -- he had packed his hairgel before he'd gotten it cut -- which meant he probably looked like a moron. Cordelia hadn't said anything, but he'd seen the looks she'd given him. Wesley's upraised brow when he'd first seen Angel hadn't helped, either.  
  


Xander stood up, catching Angel's attention. He stared across the plane at Spike, taking in the changes in his appearance -- the longish blond hair, the easy smile, the green rugby shirt. And that laugh. It made Angel want to be the cause of it.  
  


Xander crossed in front of Angel, blocking his view for a second. Angel wanted to shove the boy out of the way. He didn't move, though -- couldn't. He'd been swept into a sea of aquamarine, and the only thing he could think was: he didn't remember Spike's eyes being so blue.  
  


"Angel, tell those women to get out of the bathroom, or I'm going to 'Mile High' them right off this plane!"  
  


Cordelia's angry tone pulled Angel out of the depths of Spike's eyes and back into the plane. He frowned at her, and she gestured towards the restroom. "Some of us humans do have to use the facilities now and again," she sniped.  
  


With a put upon sigh, Angel went and banged on the restroom door. "Drusilla, Lilah, get out here!"  
  


There was a bang and a giggle, followed by a flush. The door opened, revealing the two mussed women. Angel wondered if Cordelia would throw _him_ out of the plane, if he asked nicely enough. "Lilah, you can call Lindsey now," he said, heading back to his seat. "Tell him to tell Darla I brought Dru with, and also have him tell her if I find Wes or Gunn chopped into pieces when I get home, I'm going to cut off her head with a butter knife."  
  


Angel ran his hand through his hair for the hundredth time, ignoring Lilah's pithy remark. His gaze slid to the back of the plane. He could just see the top of Spike's bent head, and wondered what the blond was doing. Not that Angel was interested in Spike. He was... intrigued. No one would tell him anything, or even let him near Spike, and that made Angel itch to do just that.  
  


"Okay, we have rooms," Willow announced from her seat at one of the tables. A laptop computer was open in front of her, connected to an airline Internet modem. "Six of them. Oz and I. Giles, you're with Xander. Spike in his own room, of course, because of Bu--" her eyes shot to Angel "--bbles, his, um, teddy bear."  
  


Angel watched Willow fidget nervously and his curiosity peaked. Bubbles, huh? Lying wench.  
  


"I, uh, f-figured Lilah a-and Drusilla," Willow stammered. "And Cordelia and Angel, you both in your own rooms."  
  


Angel nodded. He would have shared with Wesley, but his co-worker had received a call from his wife just as they were leaving that morning to tell him that her water broke. Gunn had been left in charge of the agency, which meant that Angel only had Cordelia to keep him from rampaging. Luckily, after ten years of practice, she was pretty good at stopping him from gutting everyone in sight.  
  


Laughter floated from the back of the cabin and Angel felt a low down tickle. He vowed that, sometime during the long flight, he was going to make it back there to talk with his childe. And if anyone tried to stop him, they'd quickly find out how unpleasant he could be.  
  


**Part Seven**

 

Gosh, poor Angel, Willow thought, glancing at the large vampire slumped in his seat. He looked so... pouty. She knew he wanted to know more about Spike, but the boys were being poopy-heads and wouldn't tell him anything. She didn't really understand why, either. Okay, yes, they hadn't seen, or even spoken with, Angel for years, but it was _Angel_. One of the good guys. And he was Spike's sire, to boot.  
  


Well, Spike's sire like Spike was Xander's sire, Willow qualified. Kind of like a foster sire. Or a Vice President sire, who took over the duties of sire when the real sire was disposed. The redhead briefly looked over at Drusilla, who was 'making snow' by tearing up a magazine. Oh yeah, Drusilla was most definitely disposed.  
  


That was another point in the 'Telling Angel' column: Drusilla. He dealt with the crazy vampiress on a daily basis, if what Cordelia had said was true. It was funny; seeing Drusilla at the hotel had been a surprise, but not one that caused any sort of response. At the time, Willow and her friends had been focused on Spike's reaction and Xander's _over-_ reaction to the vampiress's words to care. Then, later, Cordelia had given them the low-down on Drusilla, basically categorizing Drusilla as the demented pet poodle that Angel kept a tight leash on, so no worries.  
  


Willow tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and returned to her computer solitaire game. Correlation with Drusilla or not, she had promised Oz she wouldn't talk about Spike to anyone, even if she didn't agree with the decision. Oz was her mate, and sometimes she had to bow to his wishes. It was a wolf thing. Plus, he was really good at the art of persuasion.  
  


Blushing, Willow moved the red Jack over the black Queen. Angel sighed, in a way that seemed overly dramatic to her. An 'I want to get my way and I'll sigh like this until I do' sigh. A pouting child's sigh. Spike sighed like that when Giles refused to let him watch _Psycho Women In Prison IX_ for the eight-hundredth time. Spike sighed like that when he was told he couldn't go outside to play in the middle of the afternoon, too.  
  


So maybe she did sort of understand why the guys didn't want to tell Angel about Spike. They were just being the over-protective cavemen she knew and loved. Spike was... special, and they didn't want him ridiculed or pitied or taken advantage of. They were also afraid that word of Spike's enhancements could reach the wrong ears and lead to him being locked up and tested again, or forced to do things he didn't want to do. It was his choice that he acted as the Slayer. Giles would be happy to let the touched vampire putter around the house, knitting potholders, if that's what he wanted.  
  


Still... Willow's eyes drifted back to Sullen Angel. Spike wasn't very quiet when he 'spoke' with Buffy. It would make more sense if Angel was prepared before he stumbled into Spike having a 'conversation' with the deceased one-time love of the older vampire's life. She wouldn't even think about Spike's other quirks or the whole super-strength thing, although he had that pretty much under control.  
  


Perhaps she should talk to Oz again and urge him to see reason. At the very least, she'd get to join the Mile High Club.  
  


*****  
  


The vampires were forced to stay on the plane during the short layover in New York, much to Xander's consternation. He didn't want to babysit Spike. He wanted to get out, stretch his legs, scare some children. He wanted a hot pretzel. He wanted to buy a ticket for the next plane back to California. How he was going to survive twelve more hours cooped up with Cordelia Chase was beyond him.  
  


Xander knew he shouldn't let her get to him, but it felt like he was back in grade school all over again. With one look, she reduced him to a skinny, pre-pubescent, pimply loser, who wore garage sale clothing and wasn't good at anything. After a single put-down, he became defensive and felt as small as a bug that she carelessly squashed under her two-inch heel.  
  


He wanted to yell at her, to ask her where the hell she got off. Yes, he was the idiot who got himself vamped. He also had a soul, and it hurt when his idiocy was thrown back into his face.  
  


"Not that the Ice Princess cares," he muttered as he paced the cabin aisle. This was ridiculous, he thought. He was twenty-nine years old. He had that whole vampire seductive aura-thing going for him. He no longer dressed like he was standing in a paint factory when it exploded -- although Anya had liked the way he dressed before he was turned, which proved love really was blind.  
  


Somehow, Xander was going to have to settle whatever this was between himself and Cordelia. They'd be working together for at least the next week, maybe longer, and there was enough tension between the Sunnydale and L.A. groups without adding their juvenile squabbling. Now, he was just going to have to--  
  


Xander saw white stars when something connected with the back of his neck. Then his eyes rolled up and everything went black.  
  


*****  
  


Angel hoisted the unconscious brunette over his shoulder and headed for the restroom. He didn't have much time. Vampires were notoriously thick-headed, and the others would be back soon.  
  


Xander's head hit the wall with a thunk when Angel lowered him onto the toilet seat. After making sure all of the boy's limbs were in the restroom, the older vampire closed the door, then pushed a galley cart in front of it. The cart wouldn't do much to stop Xander from escaping, but it would buy Angel enough time to speak with Spike unhampered by the babysitter.  
  


Angel started to the back of the plane, purpose in his measured steps. He passed Drusilla, who was curled up in a seat, sleeping peacefully. Lilah had gotten off the plane with the others, and Angel wondered if she would return. He actually hoped she would, because she could keep Dru occupied while he was busy playing Hero. Lilah might be of some help, too, since it was her contact that had started the ball rolling.  
  


Angel focused on his goal: a dishwater-blond vampire with headphones over his ears and an open magazine on his lap. A green-painted fingernail tapped a rhythm on the edge of the magazine, another one ran along the page as Spike read. The green rugby shirt still threw Angel, and... was Spike wearing _blue_ jeans?  
  


Spike looked up when Angel stopped at the end of his row, and the breath that Angel supposedly didn't have was stolen away at the bright, non-cynical smile the blond gave him. "Angel, greetings and salutations," Spike said, removing his headphones. He glanced at the empty seat to his left. "Slayer, move your arse and let the poofter sit."  
  


Angel frowned at Spike, at the empty seat, then at Spike again. "What?"  
  


"Sit down, Angel," Spike said, marking his spot in the magazine with a postcard and sticking it in the pocket on the seat in front of him. He turned partially in his seat, as far as the buckled seatbelt would let him, and pulled a knee up to his chest, smile still in place. "So, you ponce, long time, no see. What have you been doing -- besides Dru?"  
  


Angel was taken aback by... well, everything. Spike's smile, Spike's affability, Spike's casual reference to Drusilla. Befuddled, Angel grabbed the last one and ran with it. "You don't care that I've slept with Drusilla?"  
  


Spike looked beyond Angel at the seat across the aisle and snickered. Angel glanced over and saw nothing. His frown returned. Was he missing something?  
  


"To answer your question: it doesn't bother me. It's been over between Dru and me now for, what...?" Spike looked past Angel again, a furrow of thought crinkling his brow. "Twelve years? Thirteen?" He shrugged. "It's been awhile. Don't get me wrong, though, if she danced up to me all naked-like and suggested a tumble, I'd bloody well shag her into unconsciousness. However, it doesn't bother me that you're shagging her into unconsciousness, too." He grinned slyly. "But I think that bitchy-looking brunette might protest a bit."  
  


"Lilah Morgan," Angel supplied, glancing up the aisle as the galley cart rattled outside the restroom door. "I'm not sure which one has the other wrapped around their little finger."  
  


Spike mock-gasped. "My, my, what naughty language, pet."  
  


Huh?, Angel thought, staring at Spike in bewilderment. The blond vampire was, once more, looking past Angel at the seat across the aisle. Angel glanced over again and still saw an empty seat. Spike started to laugh, even though nothing was said. Huh?  
  


"Spike, what are you laughing at?" Angel asked in bafflement.  
  


Spike rolled his eyes. "Cor, Angel, can't you take a bleedin' joke?"  
  


"Huh?"  
  


"Or did your ex's language fry your synapses?" Spike went on. He nodded towards the empty seat. "She's turned into quite the little potty-mouth, hasn't she?"  
  


"Okay, time-out," Angel held his hands in a T-formation. "Who are you talking about? Which 'she'?"  
  


"Buffy, who else?" Spike stared at him in confusion. "Are you feeling all right, mate? You're acting a bit odd."  
  


"Me?" Angel returned Spike look with an incredulous one of his own.  
  


Spike looked across the aisle again for a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right, Slayer, but we can't get off the plane. Rupert said I can't take off my seatbelt without asking him first, and he's not here. Angel can go by himself, though." The blond looked at Angel. "Why don't you? The fresh air might do you some good."  
  


Huh?  
  


"Oh, and do you think you could get us a couple Cokes?" Spike said. "Regular for me and Diet for Buffy. Rupe will pay you back. Ta, luv."  
  


Angel, his mouth hanging open slightly, nodded, stood, and walked up the aisle towards the galley. When he reached the cart blocking the restroom door, he pushed it out of the way, opened the door, and met Xander's angry glare. "Satisfied?" the younger brunette sneered, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the restroom sink.  
  


Angel glanced back down the aisle, shook his head to clear his fuzzy brain, then returned his focus to Xander. "What's wrong with him?"  
  


"Nothing's wrong with him," Xander stated.  
  


The older vampire gave him a skeptical look. "Right. And I look good in a tutu."  
  


"I've never seen you in a tutu, so I wouldn't know," Xander said. "Now, can you move?"  
  


"No." Angel filled the doorway, his expression becoming hard. "Not until--"  
  


"AAAHHHH!"  
  


Angel jerked towards the terrified scream coming from the back of the plane, then stumbled as Xander shoved past him. The younger man practically flew down the aisle, passing a startled Drusilla, who had jumped to her feet and was staring wide-eyed towards Spike. Angel rushed after Xander and reached the back just as Xander raised his arm, a rolled up magazine in his hand.  
  


Smack! Xander hit the top of the seat in front Spike. The younger brunette looked at the magazine, then at Spike, who had both knees pulled to his chest, his eyes barely visible over the tops of them. "I got it, Spike," Xander said calmly.  
  


"No more spider?" Spike asked in a tiny voice.  
  


"No more spider," Xander said. He showed Spike the squashed arachnid on the rolled magazine. "See?"  
  


"Oi! I was reading that magazine!" Spike exclaimed, putting his feet back on the floor.  
  


Xander arched a brow in question. "Do you want it back?"  
  


Spike shuddered. "No, I don't want the soddin' thing back. It has spider guts on it, and Buffy's afraid of spiders." He looked at the empty seat beside him. "I don't understand you, ducks. You fight demons that cause _me_ to wet my knickers, and you're afraid of a little bug."  
  


Drusilla slid into the row in front of Spike and knelt on the seat, facing him. "Teeny-tiny specks of lights frolicking around your head. Who is Peter Pan without his Tinkerbell? Apart, they are sad, but together they can fly." She laughed and turned to Angel. "He was given strength, but they had to take something away. Balance, said the Dodo to the Mouse. Everything must have balance, or the world will come crumbling down."  
  


"Slag off, Slayer. I like Dru just the way she is," Spike said proudly. "Fruity as a nutcake, and just as sweet."  
  


"Xander," Angel said softly, grabbing Xander by the arm and dragging him partially up the aisle. "I am going to ask this once, and I expect the truth or I'll throw you off this plane into the sun. Who is Spike talking to?" His face darkened when he saw the smirk appear on Xander's. "And I _don't_ mean Dru."  
  


The smirk vanished, and Xander studied Angel for a long moment before replying. "He's speaking to Buffy," the younger vampire answered quietly. "Spike can 'see' her."  
  


Angel was stunned. "Are you serious?"  
  


Xander nodded. "But don't encourage him or pretend that you can see or hear her, too. Giles says it's part of his PTSS and that we should just ignore 'Buffy.' The G-ster is working on getting Spike to realize that Buffy is dead, but so far, no luck." He sent a fond glance over his shoulder at the dishwater-blond vampire. "Spike can be such a stubborn jackass when he wants to be."  
  


"Now _that_ sounds like the Spike I know," Angel muttered.  
  


"Hey, do me a favor," Xander said. "Don't let the others know I told you. I like my arms on my body, thank you very much."  
  


Angel nodded absently, his gaze drifting back to Spike. The blond vampire was chatting amicably with Drusilla, waving multi-colored bottles of nail-polish in her direction. Another insane childe, Angel thought, depressed. For some reason, he'd much rather have Spike hating him than being mentally unstable.  
  


Unhappily, the dark-haired vampire sank down into his seat, leaving Xander to deal with Spike and Drusilla. It was time, once again, for a serious brood.  
  


**Part Eight**  
  


Lilah's sculpted brow arched in interest as she picked up on the not-too-subtle attention Angel was giving Drusilla's ex-lover, Spike. The hulking one continuously looked to the back of the plane. Angel's face was a blank mask, except for the tiny lines on his forehead and around his mouth, something no one would notice unless they'd spent a decade studying the dark-haired vampire. Lilah was such a person.  
  


The attorney hadn't been too sure of herself when she returned to the plane in New York. She'd had the opportunity to leave her 'kidnappers' during the stopover at JFK, and had been third in line at the counter to purchase a ticket back to California when she'd abruptly changed her mind. Going to England with her lover would be a nice mini-vacation, she'd thought. No Lindsey and his fanged-bimbo to deal with, no pressing clients of indeterminable species, no secretaries giving her the evil eye. She'd be able to relax, play, and keep an eye on her nemesis, Angel, at the same time.  
  


It seemed like her decision to continue on to England was going to pay off. Angel's interest in Spike went beyond casual, possibly beyond familial, as well, if the smouldering glances she'd caught earlier were any indication. Lilah looked back at Spike. She could see why Angel would be attracted: pale, striking features, all angles and sharp lines, a heart-stopping smile -- if he as good at sex as he was sex _-y_ , it was no wonder Drusilla had stayed with him for over a century.  
  


Lilah knew little about Spike, however, beyond the fact that he was Drusilla's childe and ex-lover, and bits and pieces of their past relationship. She knew nothing about the vampire himself, other than he was the missing member of the Scourge of Europe. More specifically, she didn't know what his ties were to Angel, or if it was possible to exploit those ties.  
  


Lilah smiled and extracted her cell phone from her purse. Perhaps Spike was the key to bringing Angel down. Darla had failed, Drusilla had failed, but maybe... just maybe...  
  


"Gregory, it's Lilah," Lilah said softly into the phone when she'd connected. "I need all the information you can find on a vampire who goes by the name of Spike..."  
  


*****  
  


Cordelia Chase was... perturbed. Yes, that was a good word. Perturbed. Not quite annoyed, not quite icked, but perturbed.  
  


And Xander Harris was the perturb-ee.  
  


Cordelia glanced through her lashes at the short-haired brunette causally sprawled on the jet's couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his large hands folded on his flat stomach, his dark eyes closed and his handsome features relaxed in sleep.  
  


Ack! No! Not handsome! Ugly! Sneering! Boyish... no, no, no! It was... _Xander_. First class dork, first rate loser. And he was a vampire! Vampires were near the top of her 'I Don't Think So' list, especially after Matt. Xander, himself, topped the 'Never Again' list.  
  


So why had butterflies taken flight in her stomach from the moment she'd seen him?  
  


All right, the years had turned the boy into a Man, with a capital M. He was ripped -- the ribbed A-line tee he wore told her the only six-pack that former construction worker'd had was the one outlined by the tight shirt. He no longer dressed like a clown, but he didn't wear all black like Angel, either.  
  


He was also the first person she'd loved who'd torn her heart from her chest, shredded it to pieces, and then almost killed her through impaling. And that was _before_ he became a vampire.  
  


Nope, Xander Harris was number one on her new 'What, Are You Insane?!' list. She wasn't going to give him the time of day... or night. It didn't matter how fine he looked, or how confident he seemed, or how his humor made her smile, or how intensely he was staring at her right now...  
  


Cordelia blinked, dropped her gaze, then did something she hadn't done in over a decade.  
  


She blushed.  
  


*****  
  


A tantalizing scent in the re-circulated cabin air woke Oz, and he cracked open his eyes. From his position on the couch beside Willow, his head in her lap, it was easy to see the erection in Xander's jeans as he lounged on the couch across from the half-wolf. Raising his head slightly, Oz saw a flushed Cordelia studiously reading a fashion magazine, her thighs pressed firmly together.  
  


Oz chuckled softly and lay his head back on his mate's lap. It seemed as though the puppy had found himself a bitch... in both meanings of the word.  
  


*****  
  


Angel was Not Happy. Oz had come up to him mid-flight and had basically told him off. The vampire had been informed that Spike had Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome and that Angel was to leave him alone under penalty of being eaten 'alive.' Angel was Not Happy.  
  


*****  
  


"Daddy isn't happy," Drusilla confided, watching as her Spike painted her nails just like he used to.  
  


"That's a good thing, ducks," Spike said, his head bent over her hand, which was laying on the armrest between them. "Happy Angel means the return of Psychotic Angelus."  
  


"He cannot lose that nasty soul."  
  


Spike's eyes shot up. "What?"  
  


Drusilla shook her head. "It's buried deep, like bones in the dirt. Angel doesn't believe in redemption anymore. The ghosts in his head are silent. They no longer whisper to him, like they do to us, keeping their secrets all to themselves."  
  


Spike pursed his lips, and Drusilla wanted to kiss him. Lemon lips. Lemon in her tea. Mummy used to suck on lemons. "That's what I want to know," Spike said. "If he still wants to wear tights, why doesn't he just go to the bloody ballet? Why fight for the white hats at all?"  
  


"It is what he knows." The vampiress wiggled her half-painted nails. "And it is most bothersome to Darla."  
  


"Hmm," Spike responded thoughtfully. He returned to running the nail-brush over her nails.

Sparkly silver, Drusilla thought. Pretty, pretty.  
  


"Is everything all right back here?"  
  


Drusilla looked up and smiled at the Watcher. He took care of her Spike, like Angel took care of her. Sugar plum faeries danced in Spike's head and the Watcher made certain none escaped.  
  


"How much longer do I have to be on this soddin' plane, Giles?" Spike whined. "My arse is going to be permanently glued to this bleedin' seat."  
  


"Two hours," Giles replied. "Then we still have the motor trip to Oxford. Willow has made accommodations for us at the Moat House."  
  


Spike's eyes widened in excitement. "Does it have a real moat? With crocagators or vampire-eating sharks?"  
  


"I'm sorry, Spike," Giles shook his head. "I doubt they have a moat."  
  


"What about the sharks? Maybe they're kept in the pool," Spike suggested.  
  


"No sharks, either," Giles said. "I'm afraid the Moat House is only a standard inn."  
  


Spike pouted and looked up at the Watcher from under his lashes. "Can I pretend there are sharks, so I can rescue Buffy from them?" He addressed the seat in front of him. "Do I look like a damsel in distress?" He scowled and brushed his hair back, leaving a streak of silver nailpolish across his face. "I told you I needed a haircut."  
  


"Spike, you have varnish on your face," Giles said, taking out a handkerchief. Before he could give it to the blond, Spike had smeared the polish across his nose and a portion of his cheek with the back of his hand.  
  


Spike was sparkly, Drusilla thought with a giggle. Sparkly Spike matched her nails. He'd make a good accessory, like Cordelia had taught her.  
  


"I suppose you don't have the varnish remover with you," Giles said. Spike shook his head and tried to scrub the nail polish off again, only to succeed in getting more on him. Giles sighed and tucked his handkerchief away. "Never mind. We'll clean you up later. Carry on."  
  


"Dru," Spike said worriedly as Giles returned to his seat. "How do I look?"  
  


"Like a Faerie Prince," Drusilla cooed, cupping his silver-streaked cheeks. "It only takes one kiss to wake the Princess, and then the village can rejoice."  
  


"Are you the Princess?" Spike asked, smiling devilishly.  
  


Drusilla shook her dark head. "The Wizards chopped the Princess into pieces, but the Prince still holds her heart."  
  


"Then who am I supposed to snog with, Dru?" Spike said with a frown.  
  


Drusilla laughed lightly. "Silly Spike. There's no such thing as Happily Ever After. Only sweet kisses in the rain."  
  


"Right... that made no sense," Spike said. He abruptly grinned, leaned forward, and kissed her nose. "Have I told you that I missed you?"  
  


"Yes," Drusilla said with a coy smile. "But you may tell me again."  
  


 

 **Part Nine**  
  


_Oxford, England_  
  
  
  


Oxford, England. Home of one of the greatest universities in the world -- or so said the two who'd schooled there.  
  


"It looks the same," Giles commented as he drove down St. Giles St., in the center of Oxford, Oxfordshire, England. "Over thirty years have passed, and it feels like I never left."  
  


"Thirty," Spike snorted from behind him. "Try over _one hundred_ and thirty. The only thing different are the motors."  
  


The rented van that carried the eight jet-lagged travelers was tight with all their luggage, but they managed to make the drive from Heathrow to Oxford without trouble. Willow navigated from the passenger seat, reading her scribbled directions by penlight. It was close to 3:00 a.m., local time, and the group wanted nothing more than to reach the Oxford Moat House and sleep.  
  


"You went to school, Spike?" Xander asked in amazement.  
  


Spike socked him in the arm. "Yes, I went to university, tosser. I'll have you know, I graduated with a First."  
  


"Wow," Willow said, looking back at him with awe and pride. "That's like graduating _magna cum laude_. That's wonderful, Spike. How come you never told us you were a smarty-pants?"  
  


"Who is scarier, pet: Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?"  
  


"Point," Oz said.  
  


"You should have seen him," Angel spoke up, his voice full of dark laughter. "Glasses perched on the end of his nose, fluffed hair, smart clothing -- the perfect dandy."  
  


"Sod off, Angel," Spike grumbled, scrunching down in the seat.  
  


Angel smirked. "And weren't you still living with your mother when Drusilla found you?"  
  


Spike gestured rudely in response.  
  


"He had poems in his head," Drusilla spoke up from the very back. "Beautiful words from a beautiful man. It made my tongue tingle, and the cat played the harp on the hay. Do you remember, my sweet silvery Spike?"  
  


"I remember," he mumbled. "And not one word from you, Slayer."  
  


"What was your major, Spike?" Willow asked, in an obvious attempt to stop the teasing. "Did they call it a major back then?"  
  


"Course of study," Giles supplied.  
  


"Literature and Poetry," Spike answered the redhead. He turned and glared over his shoulder at Angel. "What else would a bloody dandy be learned in?"  
  


"Interesting," Lilah murmured from her place at Drusilla's side.  
  


"Giles, what about you?" Willow said quickly.  
  


"Languages and Mythology," Giles replied. "It was the same course of study of all pre-Watchers." He smiled sheepishly. "Unlike Spike, however, I did not receive my degrees with honors."  
  


"That's right," Xander said. "That was your 'No, Officer, I wasn't having sex with Ethan Rayne, Frank Zappa, and a sheep, and that blue cloud isn't what you think it is' stage."  
  


"I am offended," Giles said stiffly. "I have never had relations with a sheep."  
  


"Notice how he doesn't deny the rest of it," Xander said in a stage whisper.  
  


"Hey, Wes was a Watcher," Cordelia said. "Does that mean he went to Oxford, too?"  
  


"Most likely," Giles replied.  
  


"Oh! Here's our turn," Willow said, closing the conversation as she pointed out the window.  
  


Giles navigated the van up the lane to the Oxford Moat House and pulled to a stop in the drive. The weary group climbed out of the back of the vehicle and gathered their baggage, while Willow and Giles went inside to check them in.  
  


"I thought it would be more... English," Cordelia said, looking up at the Moat House. "Instead, it's like we never left L.A."  
  


"According to the info Wills pulled up on the computer, this place has a mini-golf course, a gym, a heated indoor swimming pool, a sauna, a solarium -- whatever that is, a game room, and a beauty clinic," Xander said. He turned to Cordelia. "Maybe they can help you get rid of those bags under your eyes."  
  


"And maybe they can get you a whole new face," Cordelia sniffed, then marched inside. Xander grinned, picked up his bag, and followed her.  
  


"Rupert was right," Spike sighed, looking around. "No moat." He addressed the air to his left. "Guess you're safe from a dunking."  
  


"C'mon, Spike," Oz directed, as he headed for the entry to the Moat House. Drusilla and Lilah, both luggage-less, whispered conspiratorially as they went inside.  
  


Spike glanced at Angel as the blond grabbed the rest of the bags. "That Lilah chit," he said. "She okay to be with Dru?"  
  


"I'm more afraid for Dru than I am for Lilah," Angel replied.  
  


"That's what I meant," Spike said in a quiet, serious tone.  
  


Angel went to put his hand on Spike's shoulder, saw Oz glaring at him, and quickly dropped it. "Um, Drusilla's fine," he said. "I, uh, think Lilah really likes her."  
  


Spike nodded, a worried frown marring his silver nail-polish-streaked face as he looked towards the Moat House. "I'm allowed to be a worry-wort," he commented. "You still worry about TDAH here."  
  


"Who?" Angel gave Spike a puzzled glance. It was slightly unnerving to hear the blond holding a conversation with no one. It was more unnerving to know that Spike thought he was holding a conversation with Buffy.  
  


Spike grinned at him. "TDAH -- Tall, Dark, and Handsome. That's what the Slayer calls you." He feigned to the right, as if ducking a punch. "I like my version better -- Tall, Dumb, and Hard-Up."  
  


"Spike. Now," Oz called again.  
  


Spike winked at Angel and headed for the door. Angel stood there for a moment, wondering which version of TDAH was more accurate. Then he realized that by wondering about it, he had answered his own question.  
  


Shaking his dark head, he double-checked that the van was secure and went inside.  
  


*****  
  


Willow had managed to put everyone on the same floor in the hotel. Giles and Xander were next door to Spike, Cordelia chose the room across from the blond vampire, and Angel was next door to her. Willow and Oz had a room further up the gold-wallpapered hallway, and Lilah and Drusilla were tucked into the last room on the floor.  
  


Angel eyes followed the amoeba pattern on the second floor hallway carpeting. The pattern was nauseating, actually, and he wouldn't be surprised if some of the amoeba splotches were really vomit stains... and he was way too tired to be wandering the halls in search of an ice machine. However, he _really_ wanted ice in his scotch. Besides, if he didn't have his scotch, he wouldn't get any sleep and he'd be wandering the halls anyway.  
  


Having traversed one length of the hall from his room, Angel headed back in the other direction. It would figure that the ice machine would be in the opposite direction from where he'd chosen to go. It was probably just three doors down from his room, too.  
  


Angel's steps slowed when he saw that Spike's door was partially open. The dark-haired vampire had thought that everyone had turned in for the night. Curious, he lurked closer to the open door until he could see and hear inside.  
  


*****  
  


"There you are," Giles examined Spike's upturned face a final time, "Varnish free."  
  


"Ta, Rupes," Spike said, accepting the towel Giles handed to him to dry his wet face.  
  


Giles capped the nail-polish remover and rinsed the soapy washrag in the sink. Hanging the once-white rag over the towel bar, he picked up the plastic bottle of remover and ushered Spike out of the bathroom. "To bed with you," the greying man ordered, shutting off the bathroom light. He turned the lock on the door and pulled it shut behind him, effectively preventing Spike from entering the bathroom unless he broke the door down. The front desk had assured the Watcher that they had the means to unlock the door again.  
  


Spike climbed into the double bed, pulled the blankets over him, and grabbed a faded black shirt from the night-stand. Giles picked up the travel alarm clock and set it for after the sun went down. "Remember not to leave the room--"  
  


"--Until the alarm goes off," Spike said along with him. Blue eyes rolled. "I know, Rupert. You tell me the same bloody thing every day."  
  


"Humor me," Giles said. He had learned from experience that if he didn't tell Spike every night to wait for the alarm, the blond would _not_ remember, and Giles would have to doctor a sun-burnt vampire after Spike had gone directly for the cat sunning herself in front of the big picture window. Heavy draperies hadn't helped; Spike would simply push them aside to reach Miss Kitty for his daily purring competition.  
  


There was no cat at the hotel, but Giles wasn't going to chance Spike wandering outside during the day because he was bored. The blond vampire knew the difference between night and day, and that the sunlight severely hurt him, but, at home, the draw of the competition was too great.  
  


"I'm right next door if you need me," Giles said, setting the clock down. He frowned. "Or perhaps it would be better if I stayed in here--"  
  


"Rupert, I'm deranged, not five-years-old," Spike interrupted. "Stop treating me like I am. You don't at home."  
  


Giles sighed, removed his glasses, and wearily rubbed his eyes. "I have been overdoing it, haven't I," he stated.  
  


"Yeah, you have," Spike said, propping himself up on his elbows. "As have Oz and Xander. I'm not a fragile doll that needs to be kept in bubble-wrap. So I'm not as smart as I once was, and I'm immature at times. I'm still a far cry from being a second Dru." He smiled slightly. "Besides, I don't see you treating Xan like a child, and he's worse than I am sometimes."  
  


"True," Giles agreed, replacing his glasses. "I think I'm simply more worried than usual. We're no longer in Sunnydale, and the danger we are facing this time around is of the human variety. Worse, they're all Watchers, with the knowledge and skill to hurt you, Xander, and Oz."  
  


"There's nothing they can do to hurt me, remember?" Spike thumped his chest. "I'm Steve Austin... without the bad hair. He did get to shag Jamie Summers, though." He grinned wickedly at the unoccupied spot in the bed beside him. "And I shagged Buffy Summers. Any relation, ducks?"  
  


Giles reached out, put his finger against Spike's forehead, and lightly pushed the blond onto the pillow. "Go to sleep, Spike," he said. "We've a lot of ground to cover tomorrow... er, later tonight. And I mean that literally."  
  


"Will you tell my keepers to ease up a bit?" Spike asked. "The Slayer and I want to spend some time with Angel and find out how he's doing." He jerked his thumb towards the unoccupied side of the bed. "She's concerned about what Dru said."  
  


"What did Drusilla say?" Giles asked, a new frown creasing his forehead. Just what he needed, he thought, another vampire to worry about.  
  


"Somethin' about the trotter not believing in redemption anymore," the blond replied. He shrugged. "I don't see why that ever mattered to him. He should be fighting demons for the fun and challenge of it, not some lofty ideal. The only place heaven exists for vampires is in bedding a childe or a mate. The 'real' heaven is just a myth to scare human tots into cleaning their rooms and eating their veggies."  
  


"Interesting viewpoint," Giles commented. "Is that why you have taken up the mantle of the Vampire Slayer? Because it's fun?"  
  


"Nah," Spike grinned, "I do it because precious here'll kick my arse if I don't."  
  


"Ah," was all Giles had to say about that. The Watcher reached for the lamp chain. "Do you have your shirt?"  
  


Spike pulled the faded black shirt from beneath the covers. "Got it."  
  


Giles nodded. They had almost forgotten to bring the shirt along, which would've made for a horrific number of days until Tara shipped it to them. The shirt had once belonged to Buffy and it was Spike's security blanket. He couldn't sleep without it, and Giles had decided to fight one battle at a time when it came to the blond vampire, the most important one being to lay Buffy's 'ghost' to rest.  
  


"Well, goodnight," Giles said, tugging the chain. The room plunged into darkness, but there was enough light coming through the partially open door for him to see his way.  
  


"Goodnight," Spike echoed. "Sleep tight. Watch out, Xander bites."  
  


Giles rolled his eyes and left Spike's room, closing the door firmly behind him.  
  


*****  
  


Angel had been barely able to duck into his room when Giles exited Spike's. The older vampire watched through the peephole as the Watcher used his passkey to open the door to his own room and went inside. Easing the door open, Angel stuck his head out and looked up and down the hallway before venturing into it, empty ice bucket still in hand.  
  


Angel had learned several things by eavesdropping, but only one stood out in his mind: Spike had sex with Buffy.  
  


The dark-haired man stalked down the amoeba'd hallway in search of the illusive ice machine. He really needed that drink now. He couldn't believe that Spike had sex with Buffy. His pure, beautiful, loving, velvety tight, moany little blond. So what if Angel had boned Drusilla off and on for the past ten years? Spike wasn't allowed to even have illicit thoughts about Buffy, let alone get close enough to have sex with her!  
  


It just wasn't fair... both Spike having sex with Buffy, and the fact that the ice machine _had_ been only three doors down.  
  


Angel violently scooped ice into the ice bucket, picturing Spike as he jammed the ice scoop repeatedly into the ice. It didn't matter how delicious Spike had looked dressed in a pair of dark grey boxer-briefs. Or how much the blond reminded Angel of William. Or how hard Spike had made Angel just by walking from the bathroom to the bed. Spike'd had sex with Buffy!  
  


It wasn't until Angel had drank his fifth glass of scotch that he realized he was jealous.  
  


Of Buffy.  
  


**Part Ten**

 

"The cartographer has arrived," Willow announced, scurrying into the solarium with a large -- and _heavy_ \-- pink bag over her shoulder. "Sorry it took so long. I didn't realize how crowded it would be at the Tourist Information Center."  
  


"The whole town is crowded," Cordelia stated, following the redhead at a more leisurely pace. "I've never seen so much tweed in my life."  
  


"I don't like tweed," Drusilla said. "It gets stuck in my teeth."  
  


"Angel," Cordelia said with irritation. She gestured to Lilah and Drusilla. "Why are they here?"  
  


"Because I asked Lilah to join us," Angel said patiently. "She might have information she's willing to share." Cordelia gave him a skeptical look. "Be quiet and sit down," he grumbled.  
  


The group had chosen to meet in the solarium after sunset. The glass ceiling of the round room let in the bright moonlight. Several stone tables and benches, flowering plants and trees, and torches were scattered around. It was the most romantic war-room Willow had ever seen.  
  


The redhead started pulling maps out of her bag and setting them on one of the stone tables. "I got one of every map available at the Information Center. Did you have any luck at the Real Estate office, Giles?"  
  


"No, they would not release the blueprints to me." Giles lowered his voice and muttered, "Bloody bureaucrats."  
  


"Cordy and I will break in later and get them," Xander volunteered.  
  


"We will?" Cordelia snorted indelicately. "Fat chance, Deadboy."  
  


"How original," Xander said dryly.  
  


Oz had been right, Willow thought, watching as Xander inched closer to Cordelia with every bickered word. Xander had the lusties for Cordelia. Again. Why did it seem right this time, instead of seriously wrong?  
  


Willow felt Oz's warm breath as he helped her remove the bag from her shoulder. Places on her body tingled and answered her own question. Feeling the telltale blush, Willow ducked her head and concentrated on opening the maps.  
  


"If we don't have a blueprint of the place, what're we going to do tonight?" Spike asked, picking up the map of Merton College.  
  


"The plan is the same," Giles said, locating an Oxford street map and spreading it open on the table. "The blueprints for the Council headquarters would have been handy, but are not necessary for the initial stage."  
  


The others gathered around the table, save for Drusilla, who was dancing to a tune only she could hear. Lilah shrugged at Angel's look and focused on the map.  
  


"The Council headquarters is located here," Giles pointed to the map, "near All Souls College in Radcliff Square."  
  


"Fitting," Angel murmured.  
  


"There are several ways into the building, including the front door," Giles continued. "Since I, myself, am a Watcher, that is the way I shall enter."  
  


"Quack, quack," Drusilla suddenly said. "The decoy bobs in the murky waters."  
  


"Er, yes," Giles said. "While I find out what I can, legitimately, Oz and Angel shall plant bugs throughout the building. You'll enter from the water sewer to one of the underground passages from headquarters to the college. If memory serves, there are drainage grates that connect the two."  
  


"Got it," Oz said.  
  


"There might be protective spells on the grates," Giles warned.  
  


"I'll handle it," Angel said. "If Willow can provide some supplies?"  
  


"My cacta is your cacta," Willow replied with a grin.  
  


"In the meantime, while we three are at the Council's headquarters," Giles went on. "Willow, I shall send you to The Turf Tavern. I was going to have Cordelia and Xander accompany you, but since they're going to be otherwise occupied--"  
  


"I'll go with her," Lilah spoke up. All eyes turned to her. "One of my... associates is a regular. Perhaps he's heard something about what the Watchers are planning."  
  


"Does this mean you're officially helping?" Angel asked her.  
  


"I do have a stake in the outcome of this, Angel," Lilah said, her gaze drifting to Drusilla.  
  


"Very well, if you do not disagree, Willow?" Giles asked. Willow shook her head. "All right. The pub is tricky to find. You can only get to it via St. Helen's Passage, which is here," he pointed at the map again, "off of Holywell. I shall sketch out a more precise map for you momentarily."  
  


Giles moved his finger on the map. "Cordelia and Xander shall drop us at Wadham College and they shall take the van to the Town Hall. We will meet here, at The Bear Inn, no later than one-thirty. Are there any questions?"  
  


"Yeah," Spike spoke up. "What do you want the Slayer and I to do?"  
  


Willow saw the bad word Giles mouthed and stifled her giggle. "He can come with us," she suggested.  
  


"He won't blend in, baby," Oz said quietly. The half-wolf looked to Giles. "Spike will have to come with Angel and me."  
  


Giles nodded. "I concur. Only two are necessary to burgle Town Hall... not that I condone such illegal activities."  
  


"Of course not, Giles," Xander said almost by rote.  
  


"Very well," Giles said. "We'll leave around nine. Until then, do what you will."  
  


Willow felt Oz's hand rubbing a circle on her lower back. She knew exactly what she'd be doing until it was time to leave... or rather, _who_.  
  


*****  
  


Lilah felt old.  
  


The Turf Tavern was like every English pub she had visited -- old, dark, and smoky. Booths and tables provided seating, the regulation dart board was in the corner, the beer on tap wasn't a watered down American brew, a majority of the patrons could be her children.  
  


"Do you see your friend?" Willow asked as they chose a table close to a group of tweed-clad men.  
  


Lilah glanced around and spotted Carter tucked into a book and a beer. "He's here," she replied. "I'll order our drinks, then speak with him."  
  


"Okey-dokey," Willow agreed. She removed a thin book from her bag. "I'll sit here and look studious while you do that."  
  


To Lilah, Willow looked like she was still in high school, so there were no problems with her blending in. Lilah, on the other hand, felt herself aging ten years every minute. It wasn't as if she was the only older person there, but they were few and far between and it reminded her of every grey hair she'd dyed and every wrinkle marring her skin. It was a good thing her perpetually young lover had stayed at the Moat House or Lilah might've cried.  
  


The goal of the jaunt to the pub was to hopefully overhear a few Watchers discussing their plans to rid the world of demons. From what Giles had told them, Watchers on the whole had a tendency to talk things to death. "What else would you expect from a score of overeducated Brits all trying to one-up each other?" Giles had said. The Turf Tavern had been a popular place amongst the younger Watchers and pre-Watchers before Giles had moved to the United States, and he'd hoped things hadn't changed in the fifteen years he'd been gone from England.  
  


Lilah carried two tall drafts of dark amber beer to Carter's table and, schmoozing-smile in place, she greeted one of her old college friends. "Carter Lancaster, I don't believe it. Fancy meeting you here."  
  


Blond haired and grey eyed, the paunchy Brit looked up from his book, squinted, and grumbled, "Liar. You knew I was here, and you want somethin' from me." He pointed to the chair across from him. "Sit down and spit it out, so I can get back to my book."  
  


Lilah lost the smile and sat. She never could fool Carter. It was a good thing he was loyal, or she'd have to have him killed. "The Council of Watchers," she said quietly. "I want to know about their recent genocidal plans."  
  


Carter tapped the side of his nose, then pointed at the draughts in front of her. "One of those for me, missy?" She passed him one and he took a long swig. "Ahh," he breathed. "Nothin' better than a pint on a cold winter's night."  
  


He set the glass down and peered intently at her. "You want to know what those stupid toffs are up to, eh?"  
  


"More than just the basics," Lilah answered with a nod. "I know the date, time, and the supposed outcome already."  
  


"I've not much to add," Carter said. "Other than Carfax Tower, the tallest structure in Oxford, has been closed to everybody -- even the astronomy students -- during the rarest of lunar phenomenon. Odd coincidence, don't you think?"  
  


"Very," Lilah agreed thoughtfully. "Very much, indeed."  
  


*****  
  


"Will you hurry up?" Cordelia hissed, looking up and down Cornmaker Street to see if they were being watched.  
  


"I could break down the door, your highness, but I thought the object was _not_ to let anyone know we've been here," Xander growled back with impatience as he picked the lock.  
  


"Everyone knows we've been here because you've been trying to pick that stupid lock for an hour!"  
  


"It's been two minutes, Cordelia."  
  


"Shut up and pick!"  
  


Xander stood, sneered at her, and opened the door. "After you, Princess."  
  


Cordelia glared at him before stomping into the Town Hall. She removed a low-beam flashlight from her messenger bag, flicked it on, and kept it pointed down. "Which floor did Giles say Real Estate was on?"  
  


"Second," Xander replied, making sure the door was firmly shut again. He faced Cordelia, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light. "Right next door to the Recorder's Office."  
  


Cordelia silently studied him until he shifted and snapped, "What? Do I have blood on my teeth?"  
  


"No, you don't," Cordelia told him. "And, eew, didn't you brush your fangs after you ate?"  
  


"Yes, I brushed my teeth," Xander huffed, stalking up to her until they were inches apart. He lowered his voice and purred, "I also received a tongue-cleaning from Spike, so no blood left here." He smiled wickedly, his sharp fangs white in the semi-darkness, then turned and headed silently for the stairs.  
  


A mental image of Spike and Xander playing tonsil hockey popped into Cordelia's brain. She blinked. It wasn't as disgusting as she'd thought it would be.  
  


"Wait, does that mean you and Spike are together?" Cordelia asked, hurrying after the brunette vampire.  
  


Xander paused on the steps to allow her to catch up. "He's my sire," he replied.  
  


"And?"  
  


Xander frowned. "And what? That's it."  
  


"So you guys aren't together," Cordelia said.  
  


"No, we're not 'together,'" Xander said as they resumed climbing the stairs. "Why all the sudden interest in my love life?"  
  


Because Xander was sexy and she wanted to jump his bones. Cordelia's eyes widened in horror at her immediate thoughts. She so did _not_ want Xander Harris!  
  


"Cord?" Xander prompted.  
  


"Angel!" Cordelia blurted.  
  


Xander's gold eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "You want to set me up with Angel?"  
  


"No," Cordelia said. "Angel can't stand you. He wants Spike."  
  


"He'd have more chance with me," Xander stated as they reached the second floor. "There's no way in hell I'm letting him near Spike."  
  


Cordelia laughed. "Like you could stop him."  
  


Xander suddenly grabbed her by the arms, pulled her threateningly close, and snarled, "Watch me."  
  


"Ow! Xander, let go," Cordelia ordered. "You're hurting my arms."  
  


Xander released her immediately and took a step back. "Sorry," he said, dragging a hand through his short hair.  
  


"What's your deal?" Cordelia said. "You, Giles, and Oz have been treating Spike like he's a kid, when all he is, is brain damaged. You don't see Angel treating Drusilla like that."  
  


"How do you know he's brain damaged?"  
  


"Oh, please," Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Hello? He talks to Buffy -- who's _dead_." She looked around for the Real Estate office. "Besides, Angel told me. Spike has psst."  
  


"That's PTSS," Xander said, trailing after her as she headed for the correct office. "We normally don't treat him like a kid, either, but this is the first time he's been out of Sunnydale since Before, and we can't chance the wrong person finding out about his..."  
  


"His what?" Cordelia asked when he didn't finish. She looked back at him, and saw him worrying his lower lip with his fangs. Ouch. Didn't that hurt?  
  


"I can't tell you," Xander said apologetically. He quickly walked past her further into the office. "If I were blueprints, where would I be hiding?" he said as he stopped in front of a large flat filing cabinet, his light tone obviously forced.  
  


"Xander, why--"  
  


"Cordelia, please don't," Xander pleaded, turning towards her. "If you ask me again, I'll tell you, and then Oz will use my finger as a toothpick after Giles lectures me until my ears bleed."  
  


"Why?" Cordelia asked curiously.  
  


"Why will my ears bleed, or why would I tell you?"  
  


"Why would you tell me?" she clarified.  
  


"Because men are stupid, and they'd do anything to impress a girl they liked," Xander answered bluntly.  
  


"Oh," Cordelia said dumbly. Xander liked her?  
  


The butterflies returned in full force, and it felt like they brought some friends, too.  
  


Xander cleared his throat and faced the filing cabinet again. "Let's just find the blueprints and get out of here."  
  


*****  
  


"Rupert Giles, I didn't know you were in England."  
  


"Quentin Travers, I didn't know you were still alive," Giles said as he shook the older man's hand.  
  


Quentin smiled benignly. "Still as feisty as ever, Rupert. Some things never change."  
  


"No, they don't," Giles said, glancing around the foyer of the Council headquarters. "Not even the decorations."  
  


Quentin gestured for Giles to proceed him into a room off the front hall. "So, what brings you here, Rupert? I take it all is well with your Slayer?"  
  


"Buffy's fine," Giles lied, entering the study. "The Hellmouth remains closed and the demon population at a minimum."  
  


"Good, good." Quentin stopped in front of a dark-wood table with several crystal decanters and glasses on it. "Would you care to imbibe with an old man?"  
  


"Certainly," Giles agreed, studying a painting on the wall. To anyone else, it would look like a work of fantasy, but the battle depicted between the armored girl and the serpent dragon had been real. It was his favorite painting that the Council had, and it made him wish he'd had a similar portrait of Buffy in the heat of battle. She had been beautiful when she fought.  
  


"Here you are," Quentin said, coming up beside Giles. Giles took the glass he proffered and sipped its amber contents. The white-haired Watcher nodded to the painting. "The age of technology doesn't hold a candle to the old styles in some instances."  
  


"Hmm," Giles agreed non-committally.  
  


"All right, Rupert," Quentin said, moving to take a seat. "Enough with the idle chit-chat. What brings you here?"  
  


"A friend's funeral," Giles lied again, choosing to sit opposite Quentin in a dark green wing-backed chair. "Since I was only in Coventry, I'd thought I'd pay a visit. I haven't been bothered by the Council in years."  
  


"Your regular post to us has kept you bother-free," Quentin said dryly. "As long as we continue to believe the aging Slayer is not shirking her duties, we see no reason to interfere."  
  


"How comforting to know," Giles said.  
  


"Now, Rupert, you know we've given you tremendous leeway in regards to your Slayer," Quentin said.  
  


"She has a name, you know."  
  


" _Miss Summers_ may not be the most conventional of Slayers, but, I have to admit, she is a good one," Quentin said. "It will be a shame to see her death."  
  


Giles narrowed his eyes. "You say that as if it's a given."  
  


"It is...," Quentin smiled, "...someday."  
  


Giles took another sip of his drink instead of throwing it in the other Watcher's face like he wanted to do. He was there to gather information through legitimate channels, not pick a fight with a pompous windbag who couldn't slay a vampire if the vampire was prone and unconscious.  
  


"So," Giles began calmly. "Any new prophecies or findings of late?"  
  


*****  
  


"I can't tell how far," Oz said, squinting down the open manhole into the water sewer. "You?"  
  


"No," Angel replied, setting aside the heavy cover he'd removed from the water sewer entrance. "Best guess: I'd say 15 to 25-feet."  
  


"Instead of debating until the sun comes up, why don't we just find out?" Spike said in exasperation. He stepped to the edge of the sewer opening and grinned at Angel's confused look. "Be right back," the blond said, then jumped into the hole.  
  


"Spike!" Angel exclaimed, dropping to a crouch beside Oz and peering intently into the opening. Why had his idiot childe done that? The bottom could be more than 25-feet down, Angel fretted, and if Spike landed wrong, he could be hurt...  
  


"He's fine," Oz said calmly, earning a part-worried, part-puzzled glance from Angel. The half-wolf shifted and glanced around. They'd found a water sewer entrance behind All Souls College, partially obscured in a grotto. The Council of Watchers headquarters was approximately a city block away, if the sewers ran on a straight grid.  
  


"Giles said I'm supposed to let Spike have at you, secrets and all," Oz said out of the blue. His inky black eyes pierced Angel's dark gaze. "So I'll alter my warning: if you hurt him in any way, I will eat you 'alive.' Understood?"  
  


Angel nodded, but before he could comment, Spike's hands gripped the edge of the open sewer and his head popped up. "S'about 30-feet down and the bottom's slick," the blond reported. "Oz, climb on. I'll take you first, then the Slayer, and then Superpoof." He looked at the empty spot to the right of Angel. "You sure, pet? Thirty-feet isn't much, but I don't want you breaking something."  
  


Spike sighed as Oz swung himself into the hole, holding onto the vampire's shoulders. "Okay, luv, but if you get hurt, I reserve the right to laugh my arse off."  
  


Angel watched Oz, half-listening to the one-sided conversation. What the heck was the wolf doing? Was he going to dangle from Spike's legs and jump? Was there mention of a ladder that Angel missed hearing? Spike had to be standing on something -- no vampire was strong enough to hold himself up like the blond was while another climbed onto him.  
  


"What about you, peaches?" Spike addressed Angel as Oz settled into piggy-back position on the younger vampire's back. "Are you going to jump, or would you like a lift on Air Spike?"  
  


"I'll, uh, jump," Angel replied warily.  
  


Spike nodded. "Count to five," he instructed, then let go of the edge.  
  


Angel felt his stomach drop when the two vanished. He was confused, worried, and irritated that he was confused and worried. How the hell could Spike land safely with Oz attached to his back?, Angel wondered. Why did Spike offer to help him down the same way, when he obviously outweighed the younger vampire by 50-pounds?  
  


Angel glanced around one last time as he counted to five, then jumped into the open hole. He wondered if he'd land on two broken bodies. And if he did land on two broken bodies, he wondered how the hell he'd get them to the surface again.  
  


Spike had been right, the bottom was slick, and Angel barely kept his balance when he landed. He absorbed the impact of the 30-foot drop with bent knees and a bit of arm-flailing. The only light came from the open manhole far above him, and he shifted into game-face in order to see better. He didn't see the ladder or handholds Spike had used to re-climb to the surface. Instead, he saw Spike's yellow eyes and an amused, fangy smile. The blond held up a white scrap of paper with the number '6' on it. "Graceful dismount, but he didn't stick the landing. I give it a six, Bob."  
  


Oz sniffed the air a little further down the sewer. "Follow me."  
  


They weren't hurt, Angel thought, amazed and even more confused than before. He would feel like Alice who chased the white rabbit down the rabbit hole, only he didn't have the legs for a blue gingham dress.  
  


Spike shoved the scrap of paper into his duster pocket as he started after Oz. "Then you shouldn't have bloody worn 'em, Slayer," he said exasperately to the curved sewer wall. "You knew we'd be tromping through the sewers before we left."  
  


Angel slowly trailed behind the other two, listening to Spike bicker with no one. The curved sewer was moist, muddy, and moldy, with light shining in through grates on the surface every so often. There were several junctions they passed as they headed towards the Council headquarters, dark openings concealing silent predators that Angel could sense watching them, but none attacked.  
  


The unseen ceiling became solid at a fifteen-foot height as they entered a tunnel. The underground passageway must be directly above them now, Angel thought, searching for the grates that Giles had mentioned. If there wasn't a ladder -- which he doubted there would be -- he would have to boost Oz and Spike up, then try to jump the distance to the opening.  
  


Which reminded Angel -- how the hell had Spike climbed back up to the manhole entrance? Did the scientists that changed Oz make the blond vampire part-monkey as well as insane? There was no way he could've jumped the distance -- it was 30-feet! At most, with a running start, a vampire could make it 20-feet, if the wind currents were right.  
  


"This should be it," Oz announced quietly, pointing up at a foot-wide grate at the side of the tunnel. A dull yellow non-bouncing glow came through the slits in the grate, indicating the passage was lighted electrically.  
  


The darkly-clothed half-wolf cocked his head. "I don't hear anyone."  
  


Angel nodded and removed a cloth tie-bag from the pocket of his coat. He opened the bag and removed a smaller Ziplocked bag of redish-colored powder. Taking a pinch of the powder, he threw it as close to the grate as he could, and said, "Thanorun miot!"  
  


The powder flashed bright pink. "Warding spells," Angel said unnecessarily. He passed Oz the red powder and removed another Ziplocked bag from the tie-bag. "I'll try Clercius's General Dispel first and hope we get lucky."  
  


They did get lucky. When Angel repeated the detection spell, the redish powder did nothing. "The Slayer's right," Spike said, a frown on his ridged face. "That was too easy."  
  


"Not necessarily," Angel said, tucking Willow's spellbag way. "Most predators don't carry dispel components with them and would be deterred by the effects of the wards. The opening is also small and difficult to reach, making it a tactical disadvantage. Predators just interested in a quick meal wouldn't go through all the trouble to enter the passage."  
  


Spike and Oz were both staring at him. "What?" the brunette vampire said.  
  


"'Tactical disadvantage'?" Spike snickered.  
  


Oz simply smirked and looked back up at the grate. "It'll be a tight fit," he commented.  
  


"We have to reach it, too," Angel added. "If I boost you both to my shoulders, you should be able to make it."  
  


"I'll make a ladder," Spike said absently. He studied the tunnel around the grate. "Two and a half feet is all that it can be widened, Oz, without causing a sewer-in."  
  


Oz turned to Angel, a hard glint in his eyes. "What you're about to see you can't say a word about to _anyone_. Not Cordelia, not Wesley, not your shrink, _no one_."  
  


Angel frowned at the shorter man and was about to respond when he heard a crack and stone crumbling. His gaze whipped to the sound, and he was stunned to find Spike climbing the wall like a monkey... creating his own hand and foot-holds by punching and kicking the sewer wall.  
  


Spike reached the grate in seconds. With one hand, he tapped an area around the grate on the ceiling of the tunnel, while supporting himself on his toes and by the fist he'd planted into the wall. After he finished tapping, he wrapped his hand around the middle slat of the grate and pushed. The grate and a section of the stone around it broke free, and Spike pushed it aside like it weighed nothing before he climbed through the hole.  
  


Oz was halfway up the sewer wall before Angel finally blinked. 

 

**Part Eleven**

  
  
Angel was staring at him funny.  
  


Spike glanced at the taller vampire from the corner of his eye. Angel's expression was one that Spike had never seen before and couldn't put a name to. Even Buffy thought it was odd.  
  


"I wonder what power his microscope is set at," Buffy whispered, walking on the other side of him. The blond vampire shrugged and pulled his duster tighter around him. He hated being stared at. It made him uncomfortable and he closed up, not speaking unless asked a direct question.  
  


They had finished what they'd been sent to do at the Council headquarters. Oz had hooked up wire taps to the multiple telephone lines in the building. The phone tapping equipment, along with other 'toys,' had been liberated from the laboratory before it had been stripped clean by the unknown corporation that'd funded it. After the taps had been set, they had split up and "bugged" -- set up tiny recording microphones -- as many rooms as they could without getting caught. Then they sneaked out a side door and started for The Bear Inn, where they were to meet the others.  
  


Spike quickened his step and pulled away from Angel. His sire's stare was burning a hole into him, and he didn't like it. He didn't understand why Angel was doing it, either. He hadn't done anything stupid in the past few hours that he knew of, and neither Buffy nor Oz had told him the same.  
  


"Slow up, Spike, before Oz yells at you," Buffy chided. "You don't want him to do it in front of Angel, do you?"  
  


"No," Spike mumbled, cutting his pace. It was bad enough that Angel was staring at him for unknown reasons, he didn't want to have his sire staring at him because he'd been scolded like a child, too. Sometimes being a sodding imbecile who got lost even in his own backyard bloody well sucked.  
  


He wanted to go back to the inn. He was hungry, dirty, and sick of being stared at. To top it all off, his hand was spasming like mad. It was hidden from sight in his duster pocket so Angel wouldn't see it. He felt enough like a sideshow freak as it was.  
  


"Spike?"  
  


Spike closed his eyes for a moment and silently cursed. He didn't want to talk to Angel almost as much as he didn't want the pillock staring at him. "What?" he grunted, as the dark-haired vampire fell into step beside him.  
  


"Be nice," Buffy said. "Maybe he'll tell you why he's acting all weird."  
  


"Back in the water sewer," Angel began. "How did you punch a hole in solid rock?"  
  


"With my fist," Spike said sarcastically.  
  


"Oh, yeah, that's being real nice," Buffy commented.  
  


"Your hand should be broken, at the very least," Angel pointed out. "And look at it..." He took hold of Spike's arm and pulled the blond's hand from his pocket before Spike could prevent him. "...It's... twitching?"  
  


Spike stopped walking and jerked away from Angel, pulling his hand close to his body. "Leave me alone, Angel."  
  


"Spike?" Oz forced himself between the two vampires, shot a glare at Angel, then looked to Spike. "What's wrong?"  
  


"Nothing," Spike grumped, turning towards the storefront they'd been walking past.  
  


"Hey, numbskull, do you want your hand to keep doing that?" Buffy said.  
  


"No," he replied sullenly.  
  


"Then show Oz so he can fix it," Buffy told him.  
  


"Don't want to."  
  


"Spike," Oz laid a hand on Spike's shoulder, and the vampire shrugged him off.  
  


"Why not?" Buffy asked.  
  


"Because the poof's gonna stare even more," Spike said unhappily. "Then he's gonna think I'm a frickin' mutant and avoid me, and we're not gonna be able to find out if what Dru said was true."  
  


Buffy giggled. "You rhymed."  
  


"Sod off, Slayer."  
  


"Spike," Angel ventured, as if he were speaking to a child. "How about if I promise not to stare? Will you show your hand to Oz?"  
  


"Damn it!" Spike exclaimed, spinning around to glare angrily at Angel. "Will you people stop treating me like I'm a bloody child! I'm sick of it!"  
  


The blond vampire spun to face the storefront again, bent his knees, and jumped straight into the air. He landed lightly on the building rooftop's ledge, forty feet above, and hopped down onto the flat surface.  
  


"Now that wasn't childish," Buffy said sardonically from her perch on the ledge.  
  


"Shut up," Spike snapped.  
  


"Hello, Mr. Rude," she said. "What's your damage? They don't treat you _that_ differently at home."  
  


"Yeah, but at home, Angel isn't there," he grumbled.  
  


Buffy's delicate brow arched. "You want to have sex with him that much?"  
  


"No." He paused. "Well, yes, but that's not what I meant."  
  


"I'm waiting," Buffy said, resting her chin on her cupped palm.  
  


Spike slumped, walked over to the ledge, and dropped to the ground by her feet. He leaned back against the ledge and watched his hand spasm where it rested on his thigh. "I don't want Angel to be disappointed, that's all, luv."  
  


"Disappointed? How?"  
  


"For failing to be a good childe," Spike said. "For getting you hurt and myself royally buggered."  
  


"Spike," Buffy slid down to sit beside him, "it wasn't your fault."  
  


Spike shrugged and picked at an exposed piece of tar paper. Buffy sighed. "We've had this talk before, Spike. There was nothing either of us could've done--"  
  


"I could've protected you better," Spike interrupted. "I _should_ have."  
  


"Spike, you were chipped," Buffy said, "and you still fought like a banshie when they took me away that final time. You hurt yourself more than they hurt you by doing that, and yet you still tried to save me."  
  


"But I didn't," Spike said morosely.  
  


"You have the most important part of me," Buffy told him gently. "You have my heart... and I don't mean just literally."  
  


Spike snorted softly and rubbed the back of his hand across his wet cheeks. "I'm sure TDAH would simply _love_ to hear that."  
  


"Ha, ha," Buffy said dryly.  
  


Spike sighed. "I suppose I am acting a bit nancyish, hiding out on the roof like this."  
  


"So jump back down, have Oz fix your hand, then steal Angel and go on that kicking thing you wanted to do," Buffy suggested.  
  


"Kicking thing?"  
  


"You know, the boats."  
  


"Punting," Spike correct. "Punting on the Isis. But I doubt he'd want to go."  
  


"Why not?"  
  


"Because I'm an effin' freak."  
  


"Yeah, but a cute freak," Buffy countered with a grin.  
  


Spike rolled his eyes. "Luv, I don't think he cares if I'm cute or not."  
  


"Wanna bet?"  
  


He shook his head. "The tosser's prolly gone by now, and thinking of ways to avoid me for the rest of the holiday."  
  


"Why would he want to avoid you?" Buffy asked.  
  


"Because everything about him reminds me of what Angelus had been like before the soul -- minus the bodies," Spike replied. "He's got the same way of carrying himself, the same look in his eyes, the same way of treating Drusilla. He acts like he doesn't care about anything other than what directly effects him."  
  


Spike looked up at the night sky. "Angelus was always one for perfection: Darla was his perfect woman; Drusilla he'd made perfectly insane; he'd made me into his perfect second." The blond vampire knocked his head lightly against the ledge wall. "Angelus hates flaws. And now, I'm a bloody giant one."  
  


"Giles, Xander, Oz, Willow, and Tara don't think you're flawed," Buffy said.  
  


Spike gave Buffy a look. "Right. They think I'm _special_ ," the word dripped with derision.  
  


"You know what?" Buffy stood. "I'm getting off this pity train before I get motion sickness. If you're too chicken to go back down there and show Angel that you're still perfect, even with your supposed flaws, then I don't blame him if he avoids you the rest of this trip."  
  


"Hey, now!" Spike climbed to his feet and frowned at her. "You're supposed to be on my side."  
  


"Says who?"  
  


He scowled at her. "Fine. Just to prove I'm right, I'm going back down there, let Angel watch Oz fix my hand, then invite my sire to go punting. We'll see how fast he says: 'not a bleedin' chance in hell.'"  
  


Spike looked over the ledge. Angel and Oz seemed to be engaged in a staring contest, both with their arms crossed over their chests. The height variance didn't seem to make a difference with them. The blond vampire glanced at Buffy, smiled mirthlessly, and hopped over the ledge.  
  


He landed in a comfortable crouch on the pavement below, next to where the other two stood. Straightening, he held out his spasming hand. "Fix this. It's starting to drive me up a bloody wall."  
  


"Here?" Oz questioned. "You don't want to wait for Giles?"  
  


"Yes, here, and no, I don't want to wait," Spike replied. He glared challengingly at his sire. "I want Angel to see this."  
  


Oz gave Spike a long look. "You sure?"  
  


"Positive."  
  


"Only fools are positive," Oz said.  
  


"You sure?" Spike said with a hint of a grin playing at his lips.  
  


Oz's black eyes twinkled. "Positive."  
  


"You two are pathetic," Buffy commented from behind Oz.  
  


"So are you, but I don't complain," Spike told her. He shook his twitching hand at Oz. "Well, mate?"  
  


"Come over by the light," Oz directed, leading him over to a street light. The half-wolf removed a pocket knife and opened the sharply pointed blade. He took out a dirty bandana, folded it into thirds, and held it between his and Spike's hand to catch the blood.  
  


Spike looked up at Angel, who had come to stand beside them. "Remember you asked how I was able to punch through solid rock?" Angel nodded. The blond half-smiled. "This is how."  
  


Spike continued to watch Angel as Angel watched Oz cut into Spike's palm. He saw the older man's eyes widen slightly, his nostrils flare, and his lips press firmly together. Angel's cheek ticked as he ground his teeth. His eyes met Spike's, and Spike saw not pity, disgust, or disappointment, but anger alighting their depths. Anger that caused the dark orbs to glow with golden fire without the older vampire changing into game-face.  
  


Angel's focus returned to what Oz was doing, and Spike let out a shaky breath that he didn't even need. Oz finished tightening the connection, folded the skin back into place, then wrapped a bandage around Spike's hand. Spike checked the bandage's tie, nodded to the half-wolf, then looked back up at Angel. "Fancy a boat ride?"  
  


Angel's brow furrowed. "Pardon?"  
  


"I'm gonna steal Angel here for a bit. We'll meet you back at the Moat House, all right?" Spike said to Oz.  
  


Oz slowly nodded. "As long as Angel promises to pay attention to the time."  
  


"I will," Angel said. A long look passed between the vampire and the wolf until Oz conceded and started up the block.  
  


"I'll go with Oz," Buffy said. "You two have fun. If there's smoochies, I want to know about it!"  
  


"Later, pet," Spike said and watched her catch up to Oz before turning to his sire. "So, Peaches, do you know how to get to the Thames from here?"  
  


*****  
  


Angel was on a stolen flat riverboat -- a punt -- in the middle of the night, poling down the River Thames, and listening to Spike sing with a bad Italian accent. Angel didn't know what was worse: the fact that Spike was singing something from Disney's _Lady & The Tramp_, or the fact that Angel _knew_ Spike was singing something from Disney's _Lady & The Tramp_.  
  


Angel winced when Spike's voice cracked on a high note. Although they weren't in a gondola, and, as Spike had pointed out, Angel wasn't wearing the "tight stripey outfit and the hat with the little dangly balls on it," the blond insisted on pretending they were in Italy, rather than punting the Isis. At least he wasn't singing _Largo Al Factotum_ , by Rossini, the dark-haired vampire told himself. The aria from _The Barber of Seville_ was one of the most popular Italian songs that people massacred when they wanted to mimic Italian opera. Figaro, bah.  
  


"This really is a _bella notte_ ," Spike commented when he finished singing. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the side of the boat. "I wonder what the stars are chattering on about tonight."  
  


"You can hear the stars?" Angel asked, although he silently groaned at the thought of another childe who communicated with the stars.  
  


"Nah, that's Dru's specialty, ducks," Spike said. He looked over at Angel and smiled knowingly. "I was simply curious."  
  


"Ah," Angel said, adjusting his grip on the twelve-foot pole. He kept poling steadily, the rhythmic movements bringing him a sense of peace he hadn't felt in years... and damn, his unlife sucked.  
  


"Angel, why don't you believe in redemption anymore?"  
  


The question was so far out of left field, it was from another state. Angel lost his rhythm and the pole splashed into the water. He quickly retrieved it before it floated away, while Spike laughed in the background.  
  


"What do you mean?" Angel said when he regained his composure.  
  


"Dru said you're not plugging for the end result any longer," Spike replied. "The Slayer and I wanted to know why that is."  
  


Angel was silent for a long while, poling the flat boat on the calm river. He finally shrugged. "It's no big shakes, actually," he began. "I saved a soul once upon a time... made a real difference in someone's life...," his voice became bitter, "...and she was killed less than a minute later by a vampire, who turned her back into the creature she was."  
  


He jammed the pole down into the water. "So, no, I don't believe in redemption anymore. The Powers That Be sure as hell could care less, so why should I?"  
  


Spike shrugged. "Never cared much for them higher mucky-mucks myself. They're the ones that didn't stop what happened to Buffy and Oz... or me."  
  


"Then why do you fight?" Angel asked, seriously. "You don't have a soul or a guilty conscience, and the others can't force you to fight on the 'good' side."  
  


"Same reason you started fighting, I'd bet," Spike said. He looked back up at the sky, a tender smile dancing on his pale lips. "I fell in love with this blond slip of a girl, who had a heart of gold and hair just as pretty."  
  


The blond began humming _Bella Notte_ again, and Angel stared down river as dark clouds temporarily blotted out the bright moon. Spike was right: Angel had started trying to make a difference in the world, instead of just surviving in it, because of Buffy. At first glance, Angel had fallen for her -- hard, fast, and completely. If he could have, he would've spent his unlife following her around like a lovesick puppy. But it hadn't been in the cards. He and Buffy had not been allowed to be "He and Buffy," and he'd been forced to move on by himself... while she moved on to Spike.  
  


Angel glanced down at the younger vampire. Why Spike?, he wondered. The bleached blond was as different from Angel as night from day... and maybe that was the reason why. Angel couldn't claim to know how Spike had acted while Buffy was still alive, but if he'd been anything like the vampire Angel remembered from over a century ago -- passionate, honest, caring, knowledgeable, blunt, ballsy, and a great fighter -- Spike would've been the perfect match for her. Just like he'd been the perfect match for Angel.  
  


"Why'd you let your hair grow out like that?" Angel asked suddenly. "I thought you liked the punk bad boy look."  
  


"Erm..." Spike sat up and fidgeted, before giving the dark-haired man a sheepish look. "I gave myself a haircut once, and now I'm not allowed to use the scissors anymore. Xander's orders. You'd think that a boy who once dressed like a rodeo clown wouldn't be so image-conscience."  
  


Angel chuckled, his own hand automatically going up to run through his dark, spiked locks. He was very glad he had gel in his hair again. He didn't like brushed-down, cap-like look, no matter what Clarice, his stylist, said.  
  


Mother Nature, however, seemed to be in agreement with Clarice.  
  


Suddenly, the skies opened. The downpour was fast, furious, and over in a minute, leaving an inch of water and two drowned rats sitting in the boat. Spike threw his head back and laughed, clutching his stomach and rocking on the seat.  
  


"What's so funny?" Angel asked in a deadly tone.  
  


"You should see your face," Spike laughed. "You'd think that your dog just died."  
  


Angel glared at him, and tentatively touched his no-longer spiked locks. Grr.  
  


"It's only water, Angel," Spike said, splashing some from the bottom of the punt onto the older vampire. "It won't hurt you."  
  


Angel's glare became murderous. Spike swallowed nervously, and tried to scoot backwards as Angel stalked towards him, his balance eerily perfect on the craft. "Now, Angel...," the blond said, holding up his hands.  
  


"It's only water, huh?" Angel swooped down and hoisted Spike up by the lapels of his duster. "Well, so's this." And with that, Angel tossed his childe off the boat into the River Thames.  
  


Spike sputtered to the surface and Angel grinned maliciously at him. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you," the dark-haired vampire said.  
  


"Yeah, but you might," Spike latched onto the side of the punt, "after I do this!"  
  


Angel flailed as Spike shoved down on the boat, but he was no match for gravity. The older vampire fell into the water with a loud splash.  
  


Spike was partway to shore, dog-paddling and laughing like a maniac, by the time Angel had surfaced. Angel took after him immediately at a fast crawl. No childe of his was going to get away with dunking his sire!  
  


The dark-haired vampire tackled Spike just as he climbed ashore, and they went crashing to the muddy ground. They rolled around, fighting playfully for king. Angel tried to pin the squirming blond, but ended up with a face full of mud and a earful of giggles. He spat gook out of his mouth that probably was hazardous even to a vampire's health. Before he knew it, he was on his back with a wildly grinning childe looming over him, his wrists pinned to the ground.  
  


"Give up?" Spike asked.  
  


Angel struggled a minute, realized there was no way he'd be able to get free, and sighed. "Yeah, I give up."  
  


The instant Spike let go, wearing a victorious expression, Angel scooped a handful of mud and mashed it into the younger man's face. Another glop of it was rubbed into Spike's wet hair before he pinned Angel's wrists to the ground again. Angel grinned like a loon. Hell, he felt like a loon. He was wrestling in the mud like an overgrown ten-year-old... and enjoying himself.  
  


Adjusting his grip so both of Angel's wrists were held in one hand, Spike wiped the mud from his eyes and mouth, and returned the smile. "You sly dog, you. I'd never have guessed you to be a liar and a cheat."  
  


The rain started to fall again, gently this time, creating light plops in the river and soft slaps against the leather of Spike's duster. A few drops slid along Spike's cheek to his jaw before dropping onto Angel's upturned face. The blond's smile was still bright and happy, as if he had no place else in the world he'd rather be than pinning his sire down in the mud in the rain.  
  


Angel had no place he'd rather be, either.  
  


Their smiles met and softened, their lips brushing against each other with gentle sweeps. Light and a little muddy, their mouths met, parted, and met again in tentative inquiry. The rain never increased in intensity and neither did the kiss until it broke as slowly as it began.  
  


"C'mon, Angel," Spike said quietly, releasing Angel's wrists. "We'd better get back before the rain gets worse." He gave his sire a lopsided grin. "You wouldn't want me to rust."  
  


"Can you?" Angel asked curiously as they both got to their feet.  
  


"Rust?" Spike shook his mud-streaked head. "Nah. Not unless you peeled my skin off."  
  


"Good," Angel said as he began to lead the way towards town. "Because I left my oil can at home."  
  


*****  
  


"'Look at the skies, they have stars in their eyes, on this lovely _bella notte_ ,'" Angel sang as he dumped the melted ice from the ice bucket into the sink. It had been a beautiful night. He'd been confused, confounded, confronted, angered, briefly embittered, saddened, soaked, almost drowned, muddied, and kissed. Oh, was he kissed. His knees had gone wobbly, and he'd been lying down!  
  


Angel was still wearing the mud from the river bank, and he was reluctant to shower off the reminder of his _bella notte_. What luck would he have in repeating such a great kiss... er, night? Angel grinned. Okay, the rest of the night could vanish into the dregs of his mind, as long as he could keep remembering the kiss. Who knew how long it would be before he could get his lips on Spike again?  
  


Humming the next verse, Angel tossed the ice bucket in the air, caught it, and headed for the door. A little ice, a little drink, a little jagging off, and he'd be sleeping like a baby. He checked the pocket of his too-tight trousers for the room's passkey, then opened the door... and froze.  
  


There was a naked Spike in the hallway.  
  


"Oi! Giles! I want to take a bath!" Spike was pounding on the door across from Angel's, totally bare-assed except for his muddy boots. "C'mon, I know you're still awake!"  
  


Giles opened the door, dressed in his street clothes and looking, as Spike had said, quite awake. The Watcher slipped on his glasses and surveyed the blond from head to toe. He sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you, Spike," he pointed towards Spike's feet, "you can't wear your boots in the bath."  
  


"But they're muddy, too," Spike said logically.  
  


"I'll shine them up tomorrow," Giles said with another sigh. "Now, go take them off and I'll be with you in a moment."  
  


"Fine," Spike grumbled and stomped back to his room without even a glance at Angel.  
  


Giles cleared his throat. "You can put your eyeballs back into your head now, Angel. It's rather unbecoming."  
  


Angel jerked and blinked several times. Giles's brows were up near his receding hairline. The vampire gave the other man a bland smile, stepped back, and closed the hotel room door. Then, Angel pivoted on his heel and returned to the bathroom.  
  


It looked as though he'd be taking a shower, after all.  
  


**Part Twelve**  
  


The Heads of State gathered after sundown in the solarium once again: Angel, from the Los Angeles contingency; Lilah, representing Wolfram and Hart; and Giles, leader of the Free Sunnydale. Oz scratched his chin. He'd been hanging around with Xander for too long. Leader of the Free Sunnydale?  
  


Willow was back in the room, speaking with Tara on the phone. Oz had done his duty by checking to make sure his mate's bitch was behaving, then left Willow alone. After a quick chat with a nervous Xander, who was preparing to ask Cordelia on a date, Oz had ventured downstairs to find the others and see what was up.  
  


"Hey," the half-wolf greeted stoically as he joined the other three at the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Spike sitting near the window of the solarium, having an animated conversation with a rose bush. The blond was wearing the dress clothes Giles had packed for him -- a deep burgundy pullover and black chinos... tucked into his battered and dirty Doc Martens. Oz silently chuckled. At least Spike had tried, and by the way Angel kept glancing over at him, the effort was appreciated.  
  


Angel, on the other hand, Oz had to force himself not to growl at. Having another Alpha present normally raised Oz's hackles, but Angel went a step beyond and set his canines on edge. The dark vampire was a real threat to a member of Oz's pack. Worse, the threat was to the weakest member, and Oz's protective instincts were on full alert.  
  


The danger was to Spike's heart.  
  


It was obvious by the covert looks Spike was shooting back at Angel that the blond had taken more than a passing interest of his sire. The human half of Oz was glad that Spike was taking an interest in someone that wasn't dead. Or rather, who wasn't completely dead. As Jefferson Airplane had once said: everyone needed somebody to love -- even a touched-in-the-head vampire named Spike.  
  


"Lilah, if I might ask," Giles was saying as he nodded in greeting at Oz. "Does your firm have plans to intercede? From what Angel has inferred, Wolfram and Hart does not wish the Council to succeed, either."  
  


It was interesting, to Oz anyway, that everyone seemed to defer to Giles when it came to gathering and dispersing information. Even though both Angel and Lilah were leaders in their own right, they yielded to Giles's direction.  
  


"I don't know," Lilah answered. Angel scowled at her and she glared right back. "I don't. Once you decided to kidnap me, Lindsey cut off all communication." She turned to Giles again. "But, if I were to hazzard a guess, I'd say the plan is along similar lines as the one you've presented: find where the event will be taking place and remove the threat."  
  


"And by 'remove' you mean...," Giles prompted.  
  


"Kill the Watchers," Angel supplied with a bite to his tone. "Not that I care much. The world needs Watchers about as much as it needs lawyers. No offense, Rupert."  
  


"Well, why don't you just lock the doors to the Council's headquarters, Angel, with a live bomb inside?" Lilah said wryly.  
  


"Maybe I will," Angel returned, his features set in a cold mask. "I haven't led a flock of sheep to slaughter in a good ten years."  
  


Oz smelled a story there, and not one that had ended with Happily Ever After. He made note to ask about it.  
  


"Let's try to do this with a minimum of bloodshed, all right?" Giles interjected. "We have three days until whatever it is will take place. Now, based on the information Lilah provided, we shall assume Carfax Tower is the location unless we hear otherwise from the taps and bugs."  
  


He tapped the blueprints of the Council of Watcher's headquarters that Cordelia and Xander had obtained. "I think that we should hold off on searching the headquarters, unless we hear a piece of pertinent information from the taps or bugs. If anyone is going to let something slip, it will be between now and the 28th, which means around the clock surveillance is necessary," he said. "Xander is currently keeping an ear out, and I shall have Willow create a timetable so each of us has an equal turn... if that is all right with you, Lilah?"  
  


"That's fine," Lilah agreed. "But I wouldn't rely on Drusilla."  
  


"Spike, either," Oz spoke up.  
  


Giles nodded. "Very well. Everyone is free to do as they wish in the meantime, as long as each party has a way to be reached."  
  


The Meeting of the Minds broke, and as Giles and Lilah went their separate ways, Oz ducked around the corner of the solarium doorway to observe Angel and Spike. The half-wolf didn't wish to intrude, but he wanted to make certain the cur really desired the other vampire's company.  
  


Angel wandered over to Spike and came to a stop between the blond's knees. The smile on Spike's face as he looked up at Angel settled Oz's concern. Spike definitely wanted to be in Angel's company, and by the way the dark-haired vampire ran his fingers along Spike's jaw, the feeling was quite mutual.  
  


The pheromones in the solarium air spiked abruptly, and Oz felt himself growing aroused by the musky scent. He silently watched the two vampires for a minute longer, bearing witness to the questioning brush of lips, the received answer, and the invitation of welcome inside. Then, Oz adjusted himself and headed back to his room. Willow had been on the phone long enough.  
  


*****  
  


Xander raised his hand to knock on Cordelia's door, then let it drop to his side again. He took a completely necessary fortifying breath, raised his hand to knock... and let it drop again. "Damn it," he cursed quietly. He ground his teeth, straightened his shoulders, raised his hand to knock... and let it drop again.  
  


Growling, Xander threw his arms in the air and started to pace the hallway. "What is wrong with you?" he said to himself aggravatedly "You're 29-years-old. You're a vampire. You have no fear. Just knock on the door and ask her if she wants to go for a beer. What's the worse she can do? Say no and laugh in your face? You have the whole suave, sexy, seductive thing going for you now. You dress in clothes that you know Cordelia approves of. You--"  
  


"Xander."  
  


"Aiepp!" Xander jumped, startled, and spun around. Cordelia stood in her open doorway, an amused smirk on her face.  
  


"It's nice to know some things never change," Cordelia commented. "You still scream like a girl."  
  


Way to make a good impression, girly-vamp, Xander thought derisively. He smiled blandly at her and said, in a deep "I am a man, not a mouse" voice, "Thank you, thank you, fuck you."  
  


Cordelia's smirk grew. "What's wrong, Xander? Did you swallow a frog?"  
  


He scowled at her, pulled his passkey out of his pocket, and tried not to look like he was rushing to get into his room. "I'm just passing by, Cordelia," he stated. "You can go back to sharpening your verbal knives."  
  


Cordelia's throaty chuckle sent a shiver down his spine. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."  
  


Xander paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back still to her. "For what?"  
  


"To go get that beer."  
  


"Okay," the mouse squeaked. Xander cleared his throat and tried again. "Okay. I'll, um, heh-heh, knock."  
  


*****  
  


"Lindsey," Lilah said exasperatedly into the phone, trying not to pull her hair out. "For once, Angel has the same goal as us, and it would be to our advantage if we worked together. But that can't happen unless I know what you've chosen to do about the problem."  
  


The brunette's hand tightened on the receiver, wishing it was Lindsey's neck. "Fine," she said coldly after her Co-Vice President finished speaking. "If the Watchers' plans come to fruition, I'll make sure the Senior Partners know it was you who withheld information that might have stopped them." She slammed the receiver into the cradle and growled. "Ooh, I hate that man."  
  


Drusilla tittered, kicking her dark blue jeans-clad legs back and forth in the air. "He's being a bad boy," she agreed. "He'll have to be punished." She snapped her teeth in a pretend bite.  
  


Lilah smiled evilly at the vampiress on the bed. "Do you have any suggestions?" she asked. Before Drusilla could reply, the lawyer's cell phone trilled, and she held up a finger to the raven-haired woman as she answered the call. "Yes?" She listened for a moment, and her evil smile grew. "Fax me the information, right away. Hold on while I get the number."  
  


Lilah perched on the edge of the bed and removed the Guest Directory from the night-stand drawer. Drusilla crawled across the bed and rested her chin in Lilah's shoulder. "What are you doing, my sweet?" The vampires gasped softly in Lilah's ear. "You're learning about my Spike. The stars don't like that."  
  


Lilah rattled off the fax number, thanked Gregory, then disconnected before turning to Drusilla. "Why don't the stars like it, Dru?" she asked seriously. She had learned from experience to pay attention when the clairvoyant recounted what the stars said.  
  


"My black prince has the strength of a thousand lions, but the heart of the icky Slayer," Drusilla wrinkled her nose. "She took my Spike from me, long ago, when my Angel was naughty and made my insides cry in pain." A smile of remembered pleasure caressed the vampiress's face, and she rolled onto her back on the bed and wove her hands in the air. "Spike cannot be swayed, dear heart, even after the electric spider is turned off. The moon weeps blood tears at the loss of her cruel child, and the twin blue suns will bring light back into Angel's dark world."  
  


Lilah frowned. Although she didn't understand all of what Drusilla had said, she knew she didn't like the sound of the last part. The darkness in Angel was what Wolfram and Hart wanted to cultivate, and Drusilla's possibly prophetic words meant that Angel would be losing some of that darkness... and somehow Spike was to be a part of that, which meant the blond vampire was worth keeping tabs on throughout the foreseeable future, whether he could be swayed or not.  
  


*****  
  


"Spike, where are we going?" Angel asked, allowing the younger man to tug him through the solarium doors and into the outdoor garden. It was raining again -- it was England, when did it not rain? -- but it was a very light drizzle that made Angel wonder why the clouds bothered at all. He could already feel his hair flattening, though, and he put a protective hand over his head before realizing that he probably looked like a moron. The hand dropped back to his side, and he whined slightly, "Spike, it's raining."  
  


"You won't melt," Spike pointed out. He led Angel further away from the hotel and the halogen lights that shined near the doors.  
  


"But it's cold and wet, and wouldn't you rather be having a drink in the hotel bar?" Angel said hopefully. "We could relive old memories."  
  


"My idea of fun is not watching you brood for hours, peaches," Spike said.  
  


"And going for a walk in the rain, is?"  
  


Spike shot him an irritated glance. "Look, Miss Clairol, we may be wiped from the planet in three days time, so if I want to take a walk in an English garden, I'll bloody well do so, rain or not."  
  


"I do not dye my hair," was Angel's response.  
  


The younger vampire snorted. "Right, the sun-kissed highlights are natural."  
  


Angel scowled, fighting against the desire to touch his hair. "Leave my hair alone."  
  


Spike laughed, and using strength Angel was still shocked to feel, he pulled Angel up against him and tangled his hands in the older man's Not-Dyed hair. Standing on his toes, Spike was almost nose-to-nose with Angel, and Angel wondered if it was possible to drown in the azure pools of his childe's eyes. Angel's arms automatically encircled Spike's waist, and he hardened beneath his trousers at the feel of Spike's lean body pressed firmly against him.  
  


"Do you still want me to leave your hair alone?" Spike asked in a devilish whisper.  
  


"No, I want you to kiss me," Angel replied bluntly.  
  


Spike's chuckled softly. "I think that can be arranged."  
  


Angel's speaking breath hitched when Spike's mouth covered his, and his eyelids fluttered twice before falling shut. He parted his lips at the soft brush of wetness against his lower one, and Spike's tongue slipped inside to tangle with his like the blond's fingers tangled in Angel's hair. Angel's fingers clenched at the material of Spike's burgundy pullover as the tip of Spike's tongue rubbed along Angel's palate, tickling him sensually and sending bolts of longing straight to his groin.  
  


Angel shivered hard when an icy raindrop slid down the back of his shirt, and he broke the kiss with a laughing moan. "Spike, it's raining," he said with another shiver.  
  


"I know it is, Angel," Spike said, rubbing against the older man as he lowered himself flat on his feet.  
  


"Then why are we still out here?"  
  


Spike simply smiled, took Angel's hand, and led him further into the garden.  
  


Angel shivered again -- this time, from the heat in Spike's eyes. 

 

**Part Thirteen**

 

Spike glanced at the clock, then looked over towards the hotel room door when he heard a passkey in the lock. Only Giles had a key to the room, unless it was the cleaning staff, and he could've sworn he put the 'Do Not Disturb Because I'm Getting A Leg Over' sign out. The blond frowned in concern when the door opened and Xander's head popped into view. "Xan, what's wrong?"  
  


"Hey," Xander said, coming further into the room. "Can I talk to-- oh." He stopped abruptly and stiffened. "Never mind. I didn't know you were busy."  
  


Spike glanced down at the dark head pillowed on his bare chest and the large arms encircling his bare waist. A tender smile graced his lips before he turned back to Xander. "I'm never too busy for you," he said, beckoning to Xander.  
  


Xander hesitated a moment, then joined Spike on the bed. He rested his head in the crook of the other vampire's shoulder, careful not to bump the other brunette. Spike put his arm around Xander's broad shoulders, hugged him briefly, and asked, "What's wrong, Xander?"  
  


Xander sighed unhappily. "I like Cordelia."  
  


"Hate to tell you this, luv, but everyone knows that," Spike said with a chuckle. "Everyone also knows that the busty bint likes you back."  
  


"That's the problem."  
  


"Huh?" Spike was confused. Maybe nine o'clock in the morning was too early to be having sire/childe conversations.  
  


Xander sighed again. "Xander is a woman in disguise alert; I'm just not ready for another relationship. Sex is sex and flirting is fun, but Anya eviscerated me, and it still hurts. I'm afraid of that happening again."  
  


"Love is not without risks, pet," Spike said softly. "But if you're not ready, you're not. There's no need to rush. If Cordelia likes you now, she needs to get her head examined...," Xander growled and Spike grinned, "...but that means she'll still like you later."  
  


Xander snuggled against Spike and was silent for a moment. Then, he whispered, "Thanks."  
  


"S'what I'm here for," Spike told him. He pressed a kiss to his childe's forehead and nuzzled the boy's short, dark locks.  
  


A knock at the door roused Xander. "I got it," he said as he extracted himself from Spike's embrace. Spike looked towards the door as the younger vampire opened it to reveal Oz.  
  


Oz's fuzzy brows went up when he saw Xander and the two on the bed, but that was the extent of his commentary. "We got a hit," he reported. "Meeting next door in ten."  
  


"You hear that?" Xander asked over his shoulder.  
  


"Yeah," Spike said. Xander nodded, then joined Oz in the hallway, closing the door behind him. The blond vampire poked the dark-haired one using him for a pillow. "I know you're awake."  
  


Angel tilted his head to look up at Spike. Sleepy amber eyes reflected pride and sadness. "You're a good sire," he said.  
  


"Learned from the best," Spike said with a wink.  
  


Angel snorted. "Yeah, I was the epitome of wholesome goodness. I only hit you because I loved you."  
  


"You loved me?" Spike was stunned. Angelus had loved him?  
  


"No."  
  


"Oh." Spike felt as though someone skewered his heart. He looked away, his eyes stinging. Buffy suddenly appeared beside the bed, dressed in blue and clutching a stake, an angry expression twisting her features.  
  


Angel shifted, moving atop of Spike, blanketing the younger man. Supporting himself on his forearm on the pillow beside Spike's head, he grasped Spike's chin and forced the blond to look at him. Spike wished he hadn't tears in his eyes; to show such weakness would mean that he had actually cared about what Angel had said. And he didn't care. He didn't... he didn't...  
  


"Spike... William," Angel said, his tone slightly rough. Deep mahogany eyes caught and held watery blue. "I'd always wished that you were my mate."  
  


Buffy's heart stopped beating in Spike's chest as the words sunk in. Angelus hadn't loved him: Angelus had wanted to be his mate. That meant what Angelus had felt for him went far deeper than love, far deeper than he'd ever hoped. Love was a paltry emotion in comparison to what it meant for vampires to have a mate. Mating was for as long both partners lived, and for a vampire, that could be for centuries or longer. It was a vampire's Valhalla if the chosen mate reciprocated the feelings.  
  


"Wha- what about Darla?" Spike asked in a trembling voice.  
  


"I was _her_ mate; she was only my sire," Angel confessed. He rubbed his thumb across Spike's lower lip. "She would've killed you if I would've taken you as my mate. So, I did nothing."  
  


"I... I..." Spike floundered, and he looked helplessly towards Buffy. She gave him a thumbs up and faded out of sight. He took a fortifying breath, and blurted, "I'd wished that you were my mate, too."  
  


Angel's jaw dropped slightly in shock, then an enormous smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Spike hadn't known Angel possessed so many teeth. It was... freaky.  
  


"What about Drusilla?" Angel asked, although the smile never left his face.  
  


"I loved her," Spike answered truthfully. "She was my sire and my girl, but I never wanted to mate with her." He lowered his eyes, his voice dropping to a sorrowful whisper. "I mated with Buffy, though, during those last few...," he trailed off, pressed his lips together, and swallowed back the tears.  
  


"I'm glad," Angel said quietly. Spike's eyes shot to his sire's in surprise. "Not that she's dead," the dark-haired man continued. "But that she wasn't alone in the end."  
  


"She was, though," Spike's words were rife with pain. "They took her away from me, and I couldn't stop them. I failed to protect my mate, sire. I failed..."  
  


"Sh-sh-sh," Angel bent and brushed a kiss across Spike's lips, tears sliding from his own dark eyes. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sure that you did all you could."  
  


"Spike, you moron." Buffy appeared beside the bed again, hands on her hips. "You're supposed to be getting it on with Angel, not weeping like a sissy-boy over me."  
  


"Can't help it, luv," Spike said, glancing over at her. "I failed you."  
  


Buffy threw her hands in the air. "Men! You are such idiots! You think you have to protect me, when I can take care of myself!"  
  


"Um, Slayer? You're dead," Spike pointed out. He looked back at Angel, lifted his hand, and dashed the tears from the brunette's cheek. "And what're you crying about?"  
  


Angel shook his head slightly. "Nothing."  
  


"He's crying because you're acting like a goober," Buffy said. She wagged her finger at Spike. "Now, you listen to me, Mister, because we are _not_ going to have this conversation again. It. Wasn't. Your. Fault. So stop blaming yourself, pucker up, and kiss Angel's tears away before _he_ starts blaming _himself_ for my death."  
  


"You're not, are you?" Spike asked Angel. Angel frowned in confusion, and Spike added, "Blaming yourself for Buffy kicking it?"  
  


A flash of pain ran across Angel's strong features, and Spike growled. He brought his other hand up and cupped both of his sire's cheeks. "Oi, don't you dare go thinking you had anything to do with it," he said gruffly. "You weren't there, and hadn't been for years. Shit happens, Angel, and there's nothing that can be done about it. The past has passed; it's the now that we have to live in, and blaming yourself for something that you had no control over won't... do... any... good..."  
  


Spike blinked. Blinked again. Blinked a third time as it dawned on him that what he'd said to Angel could be applied to him. Spike looked over at Buffy and saw that her clothes had changed. She was dressed in pure white: white trousers, white lacey camisole, white boots, and her blond hair curled around her shoulders.  
  


The smile she sent him was as blinding as her clothing, and her voice was full of life as she spoke. "'Bout time you figured that out, doofus," Buffy said with a light laugh. "I thought you were supposed to be a brain."  
  


"Buffy?" Spike questioned in bewilderment.  
  


"Do you know how much of a pain in the butt it is to be a ghost?" She sighed forlornly. "All those shoes I saw, and I couldn't wear a single pair."  
  


Spike stared at her in disbelief. A ghost? She was a ghost? She wasn't a figment of his deranged imagination?  
  


"Yes, sweetie, I'm a ghost," Buffy said, as if reading his mind. "You kept my spirit bound to you by your totally unnecessary feelings of guilt. Which is so weird, because, hello?, you're a soulless vampire, you're not supposed to feel guilty." She shook her head at the absurdity. "But, now that you _finally_ understand that it wasn't your fault, I can go."  
  


"You're leaving?" Spike said with a wavering voice. His hands fell from Angel's face, and he pushed the other man off him and sat up. "But you can't leave. I'll be alone."  
  


"Spike?" Angel questioned, sitting up beside the blond.  
  


"Oh, I don't think you'll be alone," Buffy winked. Bright specks of light began dancing around her body and she slowly became translucent. "Take care, Spike. And behave, or I'll have to come back and stake you."  
  


"Buffy...," Spike breathed.  
  


Buffy smiled tenderly, waved, and burst into a shower of golden pixie dust. The illuminated dust faded as it floated to the floor. Spike stared unblinkingly until every speck had vanished. Then he turned to Angel and whispered, "She's gone."  
  


Angel reached over and placed it against Spike's chest. "Didn't you say it was her heart that beat in here?" he asked softly. Spike nodded, and Angel gave him a half-smile. "Then she'll never be truly gone, will she?"  
  


Spike sniffed and rubbed his hand across his face. "You're a bloody poofter, you know that?"  
  


"Learned from the best," Angel teased, and started to drop his hand.  
  


Spike caught Angel's hand and pressed it back over his heart. "Insulting your lover won't get you very far."  
  


"Then, I guess..." Angel lightly pushed Spike down onto the pillow and moved over him again. "...it's a good thing you aren't my lover."  
  


"Um, Angel," Spike frowned in complete confusion, tear tracks still etched on his face. "Unless I've totally gone 'round the bend, I'd say last night proves differently."  
  


"No, last night, I made love to my mate." Angel dropped his gaze and nibbled on his lower lip. "That is, if you want to be m-mmph--"  
  
  
  


**Chapter Fourteen**  
  


Giles was about to send Xander to forcibly retrieve Spike and Angel when the two vampires entered the room. The Watcher immediately noticed that the blond vampire held his security blanket -- Buffy's shirt -- in one hand, and Angel's hand with the other. There was a large smile on Spike's face but his lips trembled, as if he couldn't decide whether he was happy or sad. Giles's irritation at the two for being a half-hour late instantly changed into concern. The fate of the world wasn't nearly as important as one of his children.  
  


Giles stopped his journey across the hotel room short when he saw Angel lean against the wall and pull Spike back into the shelter of his arms. The blond vampire's trembling smile became blinding for a moment, pure joy lighting up his features, before he relaxed against Angel and slipped on his 'I'm Being Serious, Now, And Listening' expression.  
  


It looked as though Spike was no longer simply one of his children, Giles thought, his brows climbing high above the rims of his glasses frame. It also looked as though someone had sneaked into Spike's room after the Watcher had put the blond to bed, if Angel's less that perfect hair and rumpled clothing were any indication.  
  


Giles cleared his throat. "Right, then, now that we are all present...," he began with a pointed look at the vampires. He received a part-wolfish, part-sheepish grin from Angel, which was actually quite disturbing to see. Giles went on. "We have had a bit of luck. Earlier this morning, one of the bugs at the Council's headquarters picked up a conversation regarding something called the Gnorican Staff."  
  


"How do we know it's what we're after, and not just another Council toy?" Cordelia asked from her perch on the edge of the bed.  
  


"Because there's no such thing as a 'Gnorican Staff,'" Willow said, poking at keys on her laptop. Oz was on the floor near her feet, sorting through the weapons they'd brought. "At least, not that I can find through our usual sources."  
  


"I have not heard of it, either," Giles said, dragging a worried hand through his thinning hair. "But, as Cordelia said, this could just be another un-cataloged find and, therefore, discretion must be utilized."  
  


"No storming the castle, huh?" Xander said. He sighed dejectedly and slouched back on the pillows propped against the bed's headboard. "And I was so looking forward to some senseless violence and mayhem."  
  


"There might be that, yet," Giles said. "Because we are perilously close to the line, I would like as many of us to search the Council grounds as feel comfortable doing so. The faster we find and identify this staff, the better, especially in light of the fact that it might not be what we're searching for."  
  


"Isn't that kinda reckless?" Willow said. "The more of us that go, the more chances there are of getting caught."  
  


"I have thought of that, but I see no other alternatives," Giles replied. "We are simply running out of time."  
  


"What if they call the police on us?" Cordelia asked. "They could have us arrested for trespassing, and we'd be stuck in jail while they're off destroying the world."  
  


"If they do have you arrested, I will have you out within an hour," Lilah spoke up, from her position nearest the door. "Wolfram and Hart is not without power here in the United Kingdom."  
  


"Thank you, Lilah. That is reassuring." Giles gestured to the building plans spread out on the bed. "We shall divide the Council's headquarters into sections. Be sure to watch for hidden caches in the most innocuous of locations."  
  


As Giles detailed their evening activities further, he kept a surreptitious eye on Spike and Angel. Neither had moved from their spot, nor had they asked any questions or put forth any suggestions. They seemed to be in their own bubble, with Angel whispering into Spike's ear every-so-often and Spike responding with a glance back at the taller vampire and a tender smile. Something had happened between the two of them, of that Giles was certain, and it was more than simply having sexual relations. Whether that was a good thing, or bad, was yet to be determined.  
  


"I think that's everything, for now," Giles concluded the impromptu meeting. "We shall meet up again at four this evening for any last minute preparations before we leave. I would suggest you utilize this time to rest and, ah, eat." He realized how ridiculous he sounded, instructing a group of almost thirty-year-olds, who'd been fighting evil for half of their lives, to have a nap and a snack before going out to play. Should he remind them to wear their slickers, too?  
  


"Er, I need to talk to you guys," Spike spoke up for the first time. He stepped out of the circle of Angel's arms, holding his security blanket against his chest, his knuckles white as he twisted the worn shirt in his hands.  
  


Giles's worry for him instantly shot back to the top of the Importance Meter, and the greying Watcher cursed himself. He knew he should've asked Spike what was wrong the moment the blond entered the room. "What is it, Spike?" he prompted.  
  


"Cordelia, Lilah," Angel said, nodding towards the door. "I need to talk with you, as well."  
  


"Why am I hearing wedding bells?" Xander joked nervously as the two brunettes followed Angel out of the room.  
  


Spike shook his head, but grinned lopsidedly at the younger vampire. "That's not what I wanted to tell you, but that's true, too."  
  


"You're getting married?" Willow asked in surprise. "To... to Angel?"  
  


Spike ducked his head, almost bashfully, and kicked at the carpeting. "We've, uh, mated."  
  


The reactions to the news were varying. Xander hugged his knees to his chest and turned his face towards the curtained window. Willow squealed and practically flew across the room to hug Spike. Oz rose from the floor, folded his arms across his stocky chest, and growled softly. Giles himself was torn between happiness for the blond and fear that it was a mistake, in light of Spike's mental status.  
  


"Thanks, pet," Spike said to the redhead. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped his cheeks. "I'll be moving to L.A. after this trip. Rupert, you'll need to give Angel a Nanny's List on taking care of little ol' me," he said. "Although, um, I guess I'm not as insane as everyone thought."  
  


Giles removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses, like he did whenever he needed to occupy his hands while his mind fretted. "What do you mean?" he asked, pondering the ramifications of Spike's announcement, not only in terms of the vampire's well-being but for the Hellmouth.  
  


"Buffy's gone."  
  


Everyone's focus snapped to Spike in shock. Giles put his glasses back on and forced himself to speak. "G-Gone?" Had Angel finally accomplished what Giles had been trying to do for years, in only a few days?  
  


"Yeah," Spike looked down at the shirt in his hands. "Turns out she was a ghost. I was keeping her stuck here because I thought what happened was my bloody fault. I guess I finally got that it wasn't, and she started whining about not being able to wear new shoes, then said goodbye and... and left me."  
  


The last was said so quietly, it was barely discernable. Spike sniffed and wiped his eyes again, shirt clutched tightly to his chest. Without a word, Giles walked over to the blond and opened his arms. Spike fell into his embrace with a muffled sob, and the Watcher held the supposedly soulless demon as he cried his heart out over his deceased mortal enemy.  
  


*****  
  


"Doesn't it make your stomach turn?" Cordelia whispered to Xander, leaning closer to the brunette vampire in the rear seat of the van. She nodded towards the front of the van, where Angel had his arm draped over Spike's shoulder, holding the blond snuggled against him.  
  


"No," Xander answered sullenly.  
  


Cordelia studied her seatmate in the semi-darkness of the van, noting the hard set of his jaw. "What crawled up your butt?"  
  


"Nothing," Xander growled. "Leave me alone."  
  


"No," Cordelia stated. "Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is."  
  


"You're not my girlfriend," Xander snapped at her. "So shove off."  
  


Cordelia reared back, hurt piercing her heart. She ground her teeth, and said tightly, "No, I'm not. But I thought I was your friend."  
  


Xander shot a glare at her, opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it and slumped further on the seat. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."  
  


"You should be sorry," Cordelia said, sliding down low on the seat, mimicking his position. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to get out the tools I use to pry answers out of Angel?" Xander growled, and her eyebrow raised. "Was that for me?"  
  


"No," Xander grumbled, looking out the side window. "That was for your esteemed boss."  
  


"Angel?" Xander growled again, and a look of understanding passed over Cordelia's features. Duh, she thought. Who else but the tall, Irish idiot could provoke growls out of those around him. "What did he do this time?" she asked with a sigh.  
  


Xander glanced at her, looked towards the front of the van, then down at his lap. "He's taking Spike," he mumbled in reply.  
  


"And adding blondie to his harem, I know," Cordelia said. "I'm so looking forward to having another vampire staring at my neck while I'm trying to work."  
  


"Spike can't bite, and even if he could, that ring of crosses is quite a deterrent," Xander said, his tone still sulky. "I thought necking with you before was dangerous; now it takes on a whole new meaning."  
  


"Xander Harris, have you been thinking about my neck?"  
  


Xander's fangs lengthened and ridges formed as he returned his gaze to her. "I'm a vampire, Cordy. Of course I've been thinking about your neck. Having a soul doesn't stop me from wanting to taste you, it only stops me from actually doing it without your permission."  
  


His words instantly painted vivid images in Cordelia's mind that left her breathless and pressing her thighs together. She could've sworn she'd had the No Xander Sex conversation with herself, but it seemed as though her body hadn't been listening. Her hand reached out on its own accord, and her fingers traced over his ridged brow and down along his cheek. Golden eyes watched her intently as she brushed her fingertips against his lower lip, barely touching his sharp canines.  
  


"I probably shouldn't be saying this, but you make a very sexy vampire," she whispered. "Almost as sexy as you were as a human."  
  


"You...," Xander swallowed and cupped her hand to his face, "...you aren't disgusted?"  
  


"Far from it," Cordelia said. A tiny smile curved her lips. "Maybe working with vampires for the past decade has warped my brain."  
  


She leaned towards him, and he licked his lips. "I- I don't think I'm ready for another relationship, yet," he said quickly.  
  


"Me, either," she told him. "'But one kiss a relationship does not make.'"  
  


"Pretty," he rasped, their mouths almost touching. "Who said that?"  
  


"Drusilla... just before I got the tattoo," she replied, and kissed him.  
  


*****  
  


It had just hit him. Really hit him.  
  


He was mated.  
  


He had a mate.  
  


He was someone's mate.  
  


Mated was what he was.  
  


Taken a mate was what he'd done.  
  


A mate was what he had.  
  


A mate was what he was.  
  


Mated.  
  


Wheeeeeee!  
  


Angel felt like throwing his arms in the air and dancing in a circle. He didn't, though, because that would ruin his entire tough, stoic persona. He'd look kind of ridiculous, too, bouncing around like a loon in a water sewer. Still, it was very tempting to say: "Fuck it," and just grab Spike up and wheeeeeeee!  
  


"Erm, Angel, you can put me down any time."  
  


Amused yellow eyes stared into his from mere inches away. Angel glanced past the blond vampire in his arms to see four sets of eyes focused on him with varying degrees of horror. He gave them all a sheepish look, set Spike on his feet, and loudly cleared his throat. "Sorry," he apologized, in a deeper-than-normal voice.  
  


"And you lot think _I'm_ the lunatic," Spike said with a large, fangy grin.  
  


Angel kept his chin down as he fell into step with Spike again, following behind Oz, Willow, Xander, and Cordelia as they traipsed through the water sewer to the Council headquarters. Embarrassment burned his cheeks. Big vicious vampire, was he. Whee?  
  


Spike snagged his hand, entwining their fingers as they continued to walk. A completely girlish gesture. Angel's insides turned to mush.  
  


To think, it had only taken a little more than a century and a quarter to finally have Spike as his own. Angel could barely believe it. All the years that had passed; having had to deny his desires to take William for more than just a lover; gaining his soul; Spike growing from a fledgling to a master vampire in his own right; Sunnydale; the jealousy; the hatred; Drusilla; Buffy. And after everything that had happened in Los Angeles, the threads keeping his soul together were so frayed they barely held, and he no longer believed in redemption.  
  


But who needed redemption when he finally had Spike?  
  


"Hey, peaches," Spike's laughing tone pulled Angel back into the water sewer. The blond vampire pointed up. "It's your turn."  
  


Angel looked up. The grate that they'd used last time to get into the Council of Watchers' headquarters was right above them. Oh, they were there already, Angel thought. He shook the glow-bees from his mind and swallowed Spike's bemused grin in a voracious kiss, before climbing out of the sewer.  
  


*****  
  


"Mr. Giles, I didn't expect to see you again," Quentin Travers said as he met Giles at the door to the Council headquarters.  
  


"Yes, well, I've come to utilize the library," Giles lied, briefly shaking the elder Watcher's hand. "You needn't guide me. I still remember the way."  
  


"Anything you need assistance with?" Quentin asked.  
  


"No, just looking," Giles replied offhandedly as he headed towards the library without a by-your-leave. Quentin was right on his heels, and Giles had to hide his smile. The other Watcher reminded him of a yappy little dog. Giles wondered if he offered the older man a treat, would he play dead?  
  


Upon entering the library, Giles's not-nice thoughts about Travers the dog stumbled to a halt. Giles blinked several times, staring at the object on one of the tables. It couldn't be. He cleared his throat and approached the table. The three at the table looked up. "New find?" Giles asked, hopefully in a subtle manner.  
  


"The Gnorican Staff," Quentin said, coming up next to Giles. "Fancy name, but about as useful as a pretty walking cane."  
  


Oh, dear heavens, it was, Giles thought in shock. The Gnorican Staff, the object he had come to the headquarters specifically to find, was sitting out in the open. Roughly three-feet in length, the staff was made of a light-colored wood and carved with intricate ruins. Giles couldn't believe his luck... which meant either the staff truly was useless, or Travers was getting careless in his old age. Unless the old goat actually thought Giles wasn't a threat.  
  


Giles surreptitiously studied the other three Watchers at the table. They were tense, and each wore bland expressions. It could be that they didn't know who he was, Giles told himself. Or--  
  


Giles didn't have a chance to complete his ponderable, because Quentin Travers walked out of the stacks and demanded: "What is going on here?"  
  


The three at the table gasped. Giles, himself, was stymied. He stared at the old man partway across the room, then turned to the old man standing beside him. _Two_ Traverses?! It was Giles's worse nightmare come to life.  
  


"Don't just sit there," the Travers next to Giles addressed the three Watchers. "Sound the alarm!"  
  


"Grab that imposter before he gets away!" the other Travers ordered.  
  


Giles's gaze flitted between the two, taking a quick stock: identical voices, features, and hair; even their clothing was the same. Only one was the real Travers... which meant the other was the "possible assassin" Lilah had warned the group about. Oh, bugger!  
  


"It's an assassin! Everyone disperse!" Giles snatched the staff off the table and bolted for the library doors. The hired gun would most likely come after him -- heaven, help him -- because he had the staff. The assassin, or more appropriately, the mercenary, had most likely allowed him and the others to do the work of identifying how the Watchers were going to rid the world of demons, and had appeared now to put a stop to it. It would be too expensive to hire an actual assassin to terminate every Watcher. The mercenary was probably to be paid extra to retrieve what the Watchers were using, as well.  
  


Giles ran further into the bowels of the headquarters, rather then heading outside. Whether or not the staff was actually the root of their problems didn't matter, the mercenary would kill for it, of that Giles was certain. Outside, Giles would be alone, while further inside lay protection -- Angel and his wards... one of whom just latched onto his arm.  
  


"Woah, G-man, this way to the exit," Xander said, yanking Giles's arm practically from its socket.  
  


"Tell me, quickly," Giles panted -- he was getting to old for this bollocks. "Who's heart does Spike have?"  
  


Xander frowned at him as the brunette led the way towards the basement. "Non-relevant question in the middle of what I suspect is a chase scene. I've seen this episode of _Star Trek_. Shapeshifters? And the answer is: Buffy's heart."  
  


"Yes, possibly," Giles replied, glad that Xander was quick on the uptake, even with the unnecessary babble. "Or heavy magicks. Glamours."  
  


"Oh, shit."  
  


"Precisely what I was thinking."  
  


"No. Shit!" Xander suddenly latched onto Giles's arm and flung the older man through an open doorway. Giles stumbled and fell to the carpeted floor in a lush dining room, the staff tumbling from his hands.  
  


Gunshots rang out in the hallway.  
  


"Ah -- 'shit.'"  
  


**Part Fifteen**  
  


"Giles?" Cordelia spotted the Watcher on the floor as she peered around the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. She jumped at the sound of more gunfire, and rushed into the dining room to assist Giles to his feet. "What's going on?"  
  


"We have a bit of a problem," Giles said, giving her an assessing look. "And before I say more, I must ask you to tell me what species Xander is."  
  


Cordelia's sculpted brows drew together. "Species? Like vampire species, you mean?"  
  


Giles shook his head. "Never mind."  
  


Xander suddenly dove into the room in a roll, rising up to his feet, his ridged features twisted in an angry scowl. His white shirt was littered with holes and bloodstains. "I hate it when they shoot me," he snarled.  
  


"Xander!" Cordelia gasped, hurrying to his side.  
  


"We gotta jet," Xander said, waving away her probing hands. "The bad guy looks like you now, Giles. And he's got a crossbow."  
  


"Bugger all," Giles cursed, picking up the staff. "Let's go."  
  


"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Cordelia asked as Xander quickly shepherded her through the swinging door into the kitchen.  
  


Xander pointed over her shoulder at Giles. "Staff. Shapeshifter. Shooting."  
  


"Oh. The usual," Cordelia said. She took the lead, bypassing Giles and opening the back door that led outside. She pulled up short. "Willow. Hi." Cordelia frowned. "What are you doing out there?"  
  


Willow opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by Xander slamming the door in her face. The brunette vampire locked the door and pressed his back against it. "That's not Willow."  
  


"How do you know?" Cordelia said.  
  


A loud crack resounded in the kitchen, and Xander jerked. He blinked a few times before sinking to his knees. There was a hole in the glass window where his head had been. "That's why," he replied, and collapsed forward onto the floor.  
  


"Xander!" Cordelia screeched, dropping to his side. There was a hole in his head, and it was bleeding. She felt faint. Pressing her hand over the wound, she cried again, "Xander!"  
  


"Cordelia!" Giles exclaimed, grabbing her under the arm and hauling her up. The window on the door shattered and glass rained down on Xander's prone form. An arm snaked inside and groped for the door lock. "We must leave, now!"  
  


"But Xander...," she sobbed.  
  


"Will be fine," Giles told her in a hushed, harried voice. "And he's safer than either of us, right now. That thing outside will think she killed a human and leave him alone."  
  


Cordelia nodded and pulled herself together. They had to get out of there before Not Willow put a bullet in her head. Unlike Xander, she wasn't a vampire, which she had forgotten in the utter fear that came over her when she thought him dead. When he came to, she was going to kill him for scaring her like that.  
  


The door between the kitchen and the dining room swung open and another Giles appeared with a pistol and a crossbow in his hands. Cordelia blanched, grabbed her Giles's hand, and bolted for another doorway just as Not Willow opened the back door. She swallowed her squeak of distress when bullets cut into the wall beside the door, inches from where she was.  
  


Cordelia and Giles tore out of the kitchen and down the portrait-decorated hallway. Giles took over the lead, darting into a room off the hall with an anxious: "Through here."  
  


If she had more time, she would've ooh'd and aah'd over the decor of the parlor. But, in her rush not to become a homicide statistic, all she saw was a flash of green and gold as Giles pushed her through a section of wall he'd opened. A secret door, which led her directly into the next room over. Not very imaginative, but useful in this instance.  
  


Giles quickly crossed the room to a large portrait of an ugly man in a hideous uniform. He pushed on the man's elbow, and the picture swung on a hinge, opening another secret passage. "Come along, quickly," Giles prompted. "This will take us upstairs. Hopefully, the mercenaries won't know of these passages, and will contain their search for us on the main floor, enabling us to escape via one of the fire ladders."  
  


Cordelia stepped over the picture frame and into a cramped passage. A ladder was set into the wall in front of her, and she immediately began to climb. "Where does this come out?"  
  


"The linen closet in the loo," Giles replied from below.  
  


"I hope it's not in use," Cordelia made a face. "That would be very yuck."  
  


No one was utilizing the facilities, and Cordelia spared a glance at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her mascara had run when she cried over Xander, giving her racoon eyes. Yep, when he healed, she was going to kill him. She purposely ignored the ball of terror that had settled in her stomach that told her he might currently be dust on the kitchen floor.  
  


"This way," Giles said after discreetly checking the hallway. He held the carved staff like a weapon as they crept rapidly, but stealthily, down the hall.  
  


Cordelia couldn't stop the scream that erupted from her throat when a hand closed over her shoulder. She clamped her hand over her assailant's wrist and used her body weight to toss him over her shoulder. He landed on the floor with a startled, "Oof."  
  


"Angel, you idiot," Cordelia kicked the prone vampire. "You scared me."  
  


"Good to see your self-defense skills are on par," Angel said wryly.  
  


"Wait..." Cordelia abruptly put her foot down on Angel's neck. "Name the person who calls you 'Broody Buns.'"  
  


"What are... Broody Buns?" Angel looked horrified. "Someone calls me ' _Broody Buns_ '?!"  
  


Cordelia removed her foot and looked at Giles. "It's Angel."  
  


Giles's laugh was muffled, and he had a hard time speaking. "We really do need to leave."  
  


"Problem?" Angel stood and dusted off his -- Cordelia giggled -- Broody Buns. The tall vampire shot her a glare that promised retribution.  
  


"Mercenaries," Giles replied. "Possibly shapeshifters, currently masquerading as Willow and myself. Xander has been grievously injured--"  
  


"Grievously!" Cordelia's eyes grew panicked. "You said he would be fine!"  
  


"And he will be, once he's had time to heal," Giles said in a calming tone. He turned to Angel again. "The Willow look-a-like shot him in the head. We had to leave him in the kitchen."  
  


Angel nodded and gestured to the staff. "Is that what we came for?"  
  


"The Gnorican Staff, yes," Giles said.  
  


"Okay," Angel took command. "You and Cordelia get out of here, take the van, and go back to the inn. Stay with Lilah and Dru. I'll round up the others, including Xander, and we'll meet you back there."  
  


"I don't think that will be happening."  
  


The three spun toward where the threat emanated from, to find the Giles double at the top of the stairs a short way down the hall. His arm was across Willow's neck, holding the redhead against him, and the barrel of his pistol was pressed against her temple. Her eyes were huge, her skin ghostly pale, and her hands were tied with duct tape in front of her.  
  


"Is that Willow, or is that Memorex?" Cordelia whispered, taking a step closer to Giles.  
  


"I- I'm not sure," Giles replied worriedly.  
  


"Well, ask her a question only Willow would be able to answer," she prompted.  
  


Willow squeaked as the other Giles tightened his hold. "If she says a word, I will not hesitate to shoot," he said coldly.  
  


"Let her go," Angel demanded, his hands clenched into fists, his body poised to strike.  
  


The other Giles laughed. "Like I would do something as stupid as that. I think not." The man had no British accent when he spoke. "Put the staff on the floor, step into the bedroom, and shut the door, please."  
  


"A polite mercenary," Angel said. "An oxymoron if there ever was one."  
  


"Big word," the other Giles taunted. "I thought all you knew how to say was: 'There. Harder. Oh, God, Spike. Harder, harder.'"  
  


Cordelia took another step back at Angel's furious growl. She was as fluent in Angel growl as she was in Angel grunt, and that shapeshifter-thing was about to have his tongue wrapped around his head.  
  


Willow made a noise of distress again as her captor jammed his pistol harder against her temple. "Don't even think about it, vampire," the man said. "You're not Superman."  
  


There was no warning. One second, Cordelia was staring at the gun in the other Giles's hand, wondering how they were going to save Willow, whether she was 'theirs' or not; the next second, the guy had no arm. Cordelia blinked several times, rubbed her eyes, and looked again as the man screamed bloody murder. Nope, he still had no arm, and was now spurting blood everywhere.  
  


Cordelia watched in confusion as the guy's detached arm whapped him on the head. The bound Willow scurried to Angel as the man dropped like a stone. Cordelia slumped in relief. "Oh, hi, Oz," she said.  
  


"Hey," Oz grunted. He gestured with the arm stump in his hand at the man on the floor. "Hope you didn't need him."  
  


"Ah... no," Giles said.  
  


"Good." The half-wolf tossed the arm over his shoulder, stepped over the unconscious Giles, and hurried to Willow. Angel had unbound her hands, and she fell into Oz's arms. Oz nuzzled her neck, humming in an almost sub-vocal manner.  
  


"I take it this is Willow, Version Real," Cordelia surmised.  
  


"Which means the other one is still around," Giles said. "And, again, possibly other mercenaries."  
  


"Same plan," Angel began. "Only take Willow--" Oz raised his head and snarled. "--and Oz," the vampire added hastily, "along with you."  
  


"Take care, Angel," Giles said. "The mercenaries aren't the only ones you need to be wary of."  
  


Angel nodded, then disappeared down the stairs. Cordelia bit her lower lip, silently praying that her boss rescued Xander and brought him safely back to the inn. Then, she squared her shoulders and pointed to the felled man. "What do we do with him?" she asked, all business.  
  


"Leave him," Giles said. "The Council members can clean up the mess."  
  


"Okay," Cordelia readily agreed. "Let's get out of here. I so need to fix my makeup."  
  
  
  


*****  
  
  
  


Spike was crouched beside Xander, his arms around his knees, rocking slightly back and forth on his toes. His childe refused to wake up, and he didn't know what to do. He knew the rules if someone got hurt: find the nearest shelter, wrap his shirt around the bleeding part, and wait until he heard one of the other's calling his name. He wasn't to try and find help, because he'd just end up getting lost, and then the one who was hurt would be lost because he wouldn't remember where he'd put them...  
  


Where was Buffy when he needed her?  
  


He'd stumbled onto Xander while trying to find the basement. He'd made a left instead of a right at one of the hall junctions and had gotten hopelessly lost, as usual. Undaunted, he'd kept wandering, looking for a set of stairs going down. The basement was in the basement, and if he couldn't find the stairs, he would've made a hole in the floor and jumped down.  
  


Instead of stairs, though, he'd found Xander in the kitchen, bleeding from his head, and his childe wouldn't wake up. Spike had wrapped his shirt around Xander's head like he was supposed to, and had waited for help to come. Spike's eyes drifted to the other body sprawled across the floor. His help had come, all right.  
  


Footsteps. Spike tensed and raised his gaze. His first priority was to protect his injured childe, no matter what. Just like he had a short while ago.  
  


"Spike?"  
  


"Angel?" Spike jumped up and rushed into his sire's arms. "Angel, Xander won't wake up. And- and I broke Willow."  
  


"That's not Willow," Angel said, holding him close. "Willow is with Oz, Cordelia, and Giles."  
  


"But... but...," Spike made a motion towards the redhead on the floor, "...she's right there. I broke her." He looked up at Angel with teary eyes. "I didn't mean to break her. But she started shooting at me and Xander, and I couldn't let her hurt Xander, even though she's Willow..."  
  


Angel put a finger against Spike's lips. "Hush. That's not Willow, okay? That's a shapeshifter or something that Wolfram and Hart sent to stop the Watchers."  
  


"So, I didn't break Willow?"  
  


"No," Angel smiled gently. "You didn't break Willow."  
  


Spike slumped in relief. Oz would've been really mad at him if he had hurt Willow.  
  


"C'mon," Angel said, urging Spike away. "We need to leave. You carry your boy, and stick close to me."  
  


Spike nodded, adjusted his duster over his bare shoulders, and returned to Xander's side. Carefully, he picked up Xander and, cradling his precious childe in his arms, followed Angel out of the Council of Watchers' headquarters.  
  


 

 **Part Sixteen**  
  


Angel had taken charge once everyone was back at the Moat House. He had been pissed as hell that the rooms had been bugged and his private moments with Spike spied upon. He'd ordered Willow to obtain new rooms for them and had her perform an electro-magnet spell before they took possession. He'd allowed Giles to doctor Xander, then told the Watcher to get to work on deciphering the staff. He'd had Oz set up their own listening equipment again and told the wolf to keep an ear out. Oz hadn't been too happy about Angel taking control, but Angel hadn't given a shit. He'd wanted to put an end to the problem, go home, and fuck Spike for a month straight.  
  


While the others were working on the staff, Cordelia and Spike had taken up watch over Xander. Cordelia had growled when Angel tried to get her to leave and help the others. The only reason he hadn't physically thrown her out was because of Spike.  
  


The blond vampire wouldn't sit still. He paced the room, stopping every few minutes to take Xander's hand and alternately beg and order the younger vampire to wake up. Angel finally pulled Spike down into his lap to try and calm his mate.  
  


"You have to be patient, love," Angel said softly, nuzzling the younger vampire's hair. "Xander will be all right. He just needs time to heal."  
  


"But I want him to wake up now," Spike whined into Angel's neck. "Why can't he wake up now?"  
  


"Because he's hurt, Spike," Angel said. "It's better that he's unconscious, anyway. He'll have one hell of a headache when he wakes up as it is."  
  


"Hmmph," Spike pouted. Angel bent his head and nipped at the blond's lower lip. Spike giggled, smiled at Angel, then sighed. "Okay, I can wait. But he'd bloody well get better soon, so I can punish him for making me worry."  
  


Angel chuckled and pressed a kiss to Spike's forehead. "C'mon. Let's go help the others."  
  


After sharing a long, tongue-heavy kiss in the hallway that left both vampires panting, Angel cursed his sense of duty and sent Spike to help Giles and Willow while he checked on Oz. The blond pouted prettily, and Angel had no choice but to kiss Spike again. Finally, Angel groaned, reluctantly broke the kiss, and sent Spike on his way with a swat on his behind.  
  


"Oz," Angel pushed open the shoe-propped door and entered the hotel room being used to house the listening equipment. "Anything?"  
  


"The Council's in an uproar," Oz replied, not looking up from the notepad he was writing on. The multi-channel receivers hummed quietly on the table beside him. "That staff is important, whatever it does. They keep yammering on about everything but that. There was a third merc, too, but he's been disposed of. Shapeshifters."  
  


"Any word on us?"  
  


"Only on Giles, though they suspect he wasn't working alone," Oz said.  
  


"Call if you hear anything about retaliation or about the staff," Angel said, turning to leave.  
  


"Angel," Oz stopped his writing, stood, and faced the vampire. "The cur is now your mate, and I entrust him to your care. I release him from my pack, and relinquish any and all control over him." He held out his hand, and Angel crossed the room to shake it. "Take care of him," Oz continued gruffly. "If the wrong people find out about his enhancements, they won't hesitate to capture and study him, and it will be like the laboratory all over again. Spike won't be able to survive that a second time."  
  


"I'll protect him with my very existence," Angel promised.  
  


"Good." Oz dropped Angel's hand and returned to his note-taking without another word.  
  


Angel bet that was the most Oz had ever said at once. At least, to him. The vampire left the room with a faint smile on his face, wondering how many times he was going to receive 'the lecture' about taking care of Spike. It was amazing to see how much Spike meant to the group from Sunnydale. He doubted his coworkers would go through as much trouble to protect him as Spike's friends did. Hell, Angel's coworkers would rather stake him than admit being associated with him.  
  


"Hello, my Angel," Drusilla danced around a corner with an ice bucket in her hands. "A little bird told me that you've taken a mate. Darla will not be happy."  
  


"Darla can suck my--"  
  


"Sh-sh-sh," Drusilla put her finger to Angel's lips. "Bad boy. You don't talk about your mummy like that." She went up on her toes and replaced her finger with her lips, giving him a quick peck. "I'm glad Spike has returned to you. We'll be one big happy family again. And what's that?" She cupped her ear, as if someone were whispering to her. "A new baby? Oh, Angel, may I?"  
  


"May you what?" Angel asked warily.  
  


"Lilah won't tell secrets if she's one of us," Drusilla said. "She is already most suspicious that our sweet Spike is not all that he seems." She leaned closer to him. "The weasels will tear your precious mate to itty-bitty bits and slurp his insides like soup...," her voice took on a faraway quality, "...Then an army of tin soldiers shall rise, and the world will become dark and cold...," she shivered and rubbed her arms, "...so very cold."  
  


Angel studied her for a moment, then pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. Why him? Why did he have to make these sorts of decisions? Why did he have to chose between condemning himself and condemning himself even more? When was it his turn to be mollycoddled? It was a nice word, mollycoddled. A fine, four-syllable word describing something he wanted to be. No more headaches dealing with humans and demons and their annoying problems. No more demon-of-the-week/end-of-the-world crises to stop. No more loony childer asking his permission to create a new vampire. He hated Lilah as it was, and she had a definitive lifespan. Now Dru wanted to make it so Lilah was around forever?  
  


Would it be unbecoming if he started to cry?  
  


Angel sighed instead. "I don't want to see you or her for a least twenty-five years, unless it's an emergency." He peered over his fingers, which were pinching the bridge of his nose where a lovely headache had developed. "And losing one of your dolls does not constitute an emergency."  
  


Drusilla squealed, and Angel winced. She tucked the ice bucket under her arm and threw the other one around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Angel-Daddy," she said excitedly. "I promise we'll be very good and eat all our vegetables."  
  


"That's..." Angel didn't know what it was, so he left the sentence incomplete and half-hugged her back. She bussed him enthusiastically on his cheek and released him. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile blinding. How could he ever really say no to her? "Goodbye, Drusilla."  
  


"Bye-bye, my wicked Angel," Drusilla cooed. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips. "I love all your thick, steely parts."  
  


Angel stared after Drusilla as the vampiress flitted down the hall, humming an old minuet. When she disappeared into her room, he dropped his head and rubbed his temples. His headache had become all-encompassing. She loved all his thick, steely parts? Gods, did he need a drink.  
  


Dropping his hands with another sigh, Angel entered the hotel room where Willow and Giles had holed up to decipher the staff. "How's it going?" he asked, making sure the shoe remained to keep the door ajar.  
  


"Nowhere fast and everywhere at once," Willow replied. She sat at the table by the curtain-covered windows, typing away at her laptop. Giles was across from her, his nose in a book, the rest of texts he brought scattered across the table and on the bed. The staff was on the floor beside his chair. "We know the symbols on the staff are words and sentences. You can tell that by the few repeating symbols, " she went on. "But we don't know what language it is, which makes it hard for us to decipher. And there are, like, a zillion languages in the world, if you count both the human and demon tongues."  
  


"If the staff is to be used to rid the world of demons, I doubt it would be in a demon language," Angel said, passing Spike who lounged in a chair near the bed, to join in the research. Research. Whoopie.  
  


"Too right, Angel," Giles said with a frustrated sigh. He tossed the book he was reading onto the table, pushed up his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "We're going about this all wrong. Between the three of us, we know a vast majority of the ancient languages. Let's eliminate those first, then go on from there."  
  


"I know German," Spike piped up, then frowned. "I think."  
  


"Don't worry, Spike," Angel picked up a book and sighed. "I know German."  
  


Giles picked up the staff and studied it. "It's not German, nor any of the human languages that I recognize."  
  


"Maybe it's not an ancient language," Willow said. "We're just assuming the staff is old. Maybe it's not. Maybe it was just created by the Watcher's Council."  
  


"The Council's not that smart," Angel muttered, heading for the table and the last chair. Arms suddenly snaked around his waist, and he found himself blinking in surprise at Spike's smiling face.  
  


"Hi," Spike said quietly, adjusting Angel sideways on his lap. "I missed you."  
  


Angel's headache abruptly disappeared.  
  


"Oi, Rupert, hand us the staff, eh?" Spike said. He accepted the staff from Giles and held it so both he and Angel could examine it. "You recognize the language, old son?"  
  


"No," Angel said, then took another look. "Wait a second." He turned the staff and rubbed his finger over one of the symbols. "This one. It looks... Hebrew."  
  


"Hebrew?" Willow's face scrunched. "It can't be Hebrew. I know Hebrew. I had that whole Jewish upbringing, you know."  
  


"Perhaps another Aramaic language," Giles said, digging through the books in front of him.  
  


"Give the staff here, Spike," Willow instructed, catching the object at the vampire's light toss. She studied it more closely. "Hmm. Maybe a language from along the Mediterranean coast."  
  


"You did good, pet," Spike whispered, brushing his lips across Angel's temple. "If the complaints were anything to go by, those two have been chasing their arses since we got back. I think you just gave them their first real bite."  
  


Angel smiled. Truly smiled. No one had ever given him praise for deducing a possible answer before. No one ever praised him for anything, or thanked him for saving their lives, either. It felt really nice.  
  


"Pretty smile," Spike lightly touched Angel's lower lip. "Makes me want to shag you silly."  
  


Angel's smile grew. "I wouldn't mind that."  
  


Spike dipped his head and rubbed noses with the brunette. "Jus vait 'til I git you a-lone, mein cross-eyed snickerdoodle," he purred in a ridiculous German accent. Angel laughed, low and deep.  
  


"We're both still here, you know," Giles said blandly.  
  


"Oh! Oh!" Willow bounced excitedly. "And we're finding a match! I found a match!"  
  


"She found a match," Angel said, grinning at Spike.  
  


"Sounds like it," Spike said. "By the way, are you still ticklish right...," he danced his fingers along the inside of Angel's elbow, "...here?"  
  


Angel... giggled. He actually giggled. He was being stared at by both Giles and Willow as if he'd sprouted horns. He felt ridiculous and idiotic and completely unmanly... and he didn't give a flying rat's ass. Less than five minutes ago, he was ready to commit harikari; now he was cuddled on Spike's lap and being... well, mollycoddled. What was it that he'd said earlier? Oh, right: wheeee!  
  


"Okay, okay, okay," Angel cleared his throat. "Let's get serious." He smacked Spike lightly on the side of the head. "And stop doing that to my ear, or I'll never pay attention." Spike snickered in response, and it sent chills down Angel's spine.  
  


"If the two vampires are through acting like hormonal teenagers," Giles scolded, looking over the rims of his glasses at them. "Willow, if you'd please."  
  


"Right. Angel's Hebrew guess was on the track to Correctville," Willow began. "I can't believe that neither of us saw it before, especially me, being an old Jew and all, but hindsight is 20/20... and I'll get to the information now." She paused to take a breath, then continued. "It looks like it's an Aramaic sub-sub-dialect spoken in and around Jordan. Have I mentioned that I love technology? It would've taken forever to find out if we only had books. Not that books are bad! Books are good. Very good. They're helpful and full of words and... stuff."  
  


"Willow, how long until we have at least a partial translation?" Giles interjected.  
  


"Um...," she hit a couple keys on the laptop, "...give me a few minutes to download an Arabic alphabet and then it should be a snap." She tucked her hair behind her ears and sighed. "Boy, do I feel like a dummy for not recognizing the language sooner."  
  


"Not to worry, Willow," Giles said. "I did not recognize it either. We were concentrating on ancient sources, instead of- of the possibility that it is of modern origin."  
  


"While you're doing that," Angel squirmed out of Spike's lap -- a first, Angel had never before squirmed in his unlife -- and pulled the blond to his feet, "Spike and I are going to go somewhere that's not here."  
  


"Try and stay on the grounds," Giles said with an amused smile. "We might need you again."  
  


"Not anytime soon," Angel called over his shoulder as he dragged a laughing Spike out the door.  
  
  
  


*****  
  
  
  


"Uhnngg," Xander groaned, licking his dry lips. "Spike, remind me not to drink ever again."  
  


"Spike's not here," said someone that sounded exactly like an annoyed Cordelia. "It's just me, you braindead idiot."  
  


Xander cracked open an eye and saw the brunette seated beside him, scowl on her beautiful face. "Cordy, hello, you're looking quite angry today."  
  


"Well, you'd be angry too if your Not Boyfriend got shot in the head like a moron," she snipped.  
  


"Yeah, I can see that," he agreed. He pushed himself into a sitting position, immediately wishing he hadn't moved. It felt as though he'd been shot in the head. Hey, wonder why? "So, what'd I miss? I take it by my non-dustiness, we won."  
  


"Yes, we won," Cordelia said. "Giles and Willow are working on the staff. Oz is listening in on the Council. Angel and Spike are who-knows-where doing newlywed things. And I've been here waiting for you to wake up so that I can smack some sense back into that empty cranium of yours."  
  


"You're welcome for saving you from getting shot," Xander said sarcastically.  
  


Cordelia stuck her nose in the air. "Thank you," she sniffed disdainfully.  
  


Xander smirked. "Aw, c'mon, you can do better than that."  
  


She did do better than that. And Xander wondered if it was wrong of him to want to get shot in the head more often.  
  


*****  
  


"Do you think we should find the others?" Willow asked, shutting down her laptop.  
  


"No, I don't think that is necessary. The news can wait," Giles replied, picking up the staff and the translation. "I shall go relieve Oz, so that you and he may have some quiet time. Remember to stay on the grounds, though."  
  


"I know. In case the Council goes wonky and we need to act fast," Willow said.  
  


"Right." Giles nodded to her. "Have a good night, Willow. Thank you for all your hard work."  
  


She smiled. "Just another day for a member of the Slayerettes."  
  


Giles smiled softly and left the room to go next door. Oz looked up from his notepad and raised a fuzzy brow. "We have succeeded in translating the staff," the Watcher told him. "Until we can destroy it, as long as the staff remains in our possession, the Council's plans shall fail."  
  


"Cool," Oz said. He gestured towards the listening equipment. "There's a manhunt out for you, so take precautions. They really want the staff back. They mentioned us and Buffy, but they don't know for a fact that we're here."  
  


"Very well. I shall take over for now," Giles said. "Willow awaits you next door. Unless you otherwise hear from me, we shall all meet for breakfast in this room at eight o'clock. Tell the others if you see them.""  
  


"Will do." Oz stood, said his goodbyes, and left Giles alone in the room. The elder man fixed the shoe in the door, then set about making himself a cup of tea, keeping one ear on the listening equipment. It looked as though their trip to England was almost at a satisfactory end.  
  
  
  


**Part Seventeen**  
  


Eight A.M. breakfast was a boisterous affair. Everyone had checked in with Giles at one point or another during the night, thus learning of the meeting, and Angel had taken over keeping an ear on the Council so the Watcher could get some shut-eye. The entire group had gathered in the room with the listening equipment, minus Lilah and Drusilla, both of whom Angel said had left and wouldn't be returning, then mumbled: "hopefully forever, but my money's on a year, tops." Even the still-healing Xander had dragged himself next door, to immediately be pounced on by an ecstatic Spike and smothered in reassuring touches and kisses. Angel had growled a little at that, so Spike smothered him in reassuring touches and kisses, too.  
  


"So," Cordelia began after room service had been devoured and conversation waned. "What's the deal? I take it by our non-panicking that the staff was what we came for?"  
  


"Yes," Giles answered, sipping his tea. "All that is left for us to do is, destroy it."  
  


"What are we waiting for, then?" Xander said tiredly from his seat on the floor, his head resting on Spike's thigh. Spike gently combed his fingers through his precious childe's hair, and leaned fully against his own sire and mate, smiling when he felt the arm around his shoulders tighten.  
  


"Giles and I talked about this last night," Willow said, relaxing back against Oz. "We decided the Council will need proof that the staff was destroyed."  
  


"And we need to stop the Council from coming after Giles," Oz added.  
  


"So we send them a box of splinters," Cordelia suggested.  
  


"They might not believe it's the staff," Angel said. He smirked. "If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that Watchers are deeply stupid. Present company excluded, of course."  
  


"Of course," Giles said dryly, then smiled maliciously over the rim of his teacup. "And I am in complete agreement with you, sir." He took of sip of the tea.  
  


"Ooh, snarky Giles," Willow teased.  
  


"What are we going to do then?" Spike asked. He was getting tired of Oxford. He wanted to go home, pack his things, and move into that neat hotel with Angel. Then he wanted to find Darla and rub her nose into the fact that Angel had always wanted _him_ for a mate and not her, nyah-nyah.  
  


"We shall send a missive for them to come to us," Giles replied. "Then, we shall destroy the staff in front of their eyes."  
  


"Have them come after dark," Xander said. "Just in case things go kerplewie and we need to make a quick escape."  
  


"I'll contact Lindsey and tell him to call off the dogs," Angel said. "We don't need a repeat of yesterday."  
  


"Yeah, I already have enough holes in my head," Xander said, lightly touching the back of his skull.  
  


"Including that empty space where you brain should be," Cordelia said sweetly. Xander made a face at her.  
  


"I shall write an invitation to be delivered later this afternoon," Giles said. "We don't want to give them too much time to prepare."  
  


"Are we going to leave, then, tonight?" Willow asked. She smiled sheepishly. "I really miss Tara."  
  


"I wouldn't mind seeing what damage has been done to the hotel, either," Angel said. "Especially since I left Gunn in charge."  
  


"He did say something about having a rave..." Cordelia laughed at the horror on the eldest vampire's face.  
  


As the group meeting came to an end, Giles pulled Angel and Spike over to the side. He had Spike face away and lower his head, and the blond winced when he felt Giles's box cutter pierce the skin at the nape of his neck. He trusted Giles with his unlife, so he kept silent as the Watcher cut him.  
  


"Last night, Willow and I also had a brief discussion on you two mating and the future," Giles said. "This information was written into both of our Last Will and Testaments, but we both feel that now is the correct time to do this, in case the Council does manage to retaliate."  
  


"A covered switch?" Angel questioned.  
  


"The skematics Willow was able to download from the laboratory indicate that this switch controls Spike's behavioral modification chip," Giles said.  
  


"Are you sure you want to do that?" Angel asked in a lowered voice. Spike rolled his eyes. The poof was standing right beside him, so whispering wasn't going to stop him from hearing. Not that he had any idea what was going on.  
  


"Yes," Giles affirmed. "I am showing you where it is in case you wish to reactivate it, but as of this moment," Spike heard a loud click, "it is deactivated." There was a moment of silence, then Giles murmured, "Heaven help us if you lose your soul."  
  


"Oi, can I straighten up now?" Spike asked. "I'm getting a head-rush."  
  


"Here, press this to your neck," Giles instructed. "Angel, will you excuse us for a moment?"  
  


"I'll go call Lindsey," Angel said. He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Spike turned to Giles with a confused frown.  
  


"What's going on, Rupert?" the blond said, holding a handkerchief against his neck.  
  


"Did you hear me when I said I deactivated your chip, Spike?" Giles said, moving to a suitcase on the dresser.  
  


"What chip?" Spike asked. His eyes widened suddenly. "Wait, you turned me off?"  
  


Giles nodded, taking out a box of band-aids. "That I did."  
  


"But how come I can still move then?"  
  


The greying Watcher paused mid-action and studied Spike. He blinked in amazement. "My word, you truly have no idea what I'm speaking about," Giles said.  
  


"Why did you turn me off? What's going to happen to me?" Spike took a step towards the man, his lower lip trembling and blue eyes filling with tears. Had he been bad? Or was it because Buffy went away, and now they didn't want him around anymore? Oh hell, that was it, Spike thought. They didn't want to take care of a mental vampire, who wasn't really a vampire anymore. He was a twisted bunch of metal with Spike-flesh stretched over the top. They only kept him around because he could talk to Buffy, and now Buffy was gone...  
  


"Spike, I didn't turn you off, I deactivated your chip," Giles corrected gently. "You don't have to worry about avoiding fights with humans any longer."  
  


"Please, turn me on again," Spike pleaded. What did he care about humans if he was going to be left to rust? "I can bring her back. I promise. Just, please, turn me on again."  
  


"Spike," Giles sighed and looked heavenward. "I can't believe I'm trying to convince a vampire that he can harm humans again." The Watcher shook his head. "I think I'll let Angel explain."  
  


"Rupert?"  
  


"Here," Giles reached behind Spike's neck, and the vampire heard a snap. Spike slumped in relief.  
  


"Thank you," he said. "I promise you won't regret it. I'll be extra bloody good--"  
  


"It's all right, Spike," Giles interrupted. "Why don't you go find Angel. I'm sure he's waiting for you."  
  


Spike dropped his chin and looked at Giles from under his lashes. "Don't I get a band-aid anymore?"  
  


The blond had never seen the expression that appeared on Giles's face. Giles sighed again, opened the box in his hand, and pulled out a band-aid. "Turn around," he prompted.  
  


"Wait, what kind is it?" Spike questioned.  
  


"Kind? Er..." Giles looked at the strip in his hand. " _Pinocchio._ "  
  


"Can I have a _Peter Pan_ one instead?"  
  


*****  
  


"Hey."  
  


"Hey."  
  


"Do you think maybe, when we get home, we can, you know, like... date?"  
  


"If we didn't, I'd be pissed."  
  


"Cool."  
  


*****  
  


The Watchers were doody-heads.  
  


Willow scowled fiercely at the three who'd answered Giles's request for an audience. One of them was that meanie, Quentin Travers, that she remembered from years ago. The second, Fred Ambers, had introduced himself as "Head of Acquisitions and Antiquities." Snort, right. The third guy, Georg, was obviously the muscle. Not only did he have a bunch of them, she could see a gun holster outlined under his ill-fitting suit jacket.  
  


She, Giles, and Spike had been elected by the Save The World Committee to meet with the Council representatives. They didn't seem surprised that Giles wasn't alone. The others were patrolling around the Moat House, looking for bad Watchers hiding in the bushes. She wasn't worried that there'd be a big fight, not with Oz, Xander, and Angel on the job. Even if the hiding Watchers were prepared for an attack, they wouldn't be expecting two vampires and a half-morphed werewolf.  
  


The three Watcher-people in front of her needed a good walloping, too. They refused to listen to Giles's reasoning as to why the Council was made up of a bunch of moronic idiots.  
  


"Did you honestly not think of the consequences with using the Gnorican Staff?" Giles was remarkably calm, in Willow's opinion, as he argued with Travers. Must be because of the practice he'd had dealing with Spike, she thought.  
  


"A world without demons. A world where the fate of billions did not rest on one young girl's shoulders. A world where there is no need to take that girl from her youth and make her into a killing machine," Quentin said. "I think those consequences are rather positive."  
  


"What of the active Slayer...s?" Giles corrected himself quickly. "You know that the Chosen Ones' powers are rooted in the supernatural. Your actions would have ended their lives."  
  


Quentin sighed sadly. Willow didn't doubt that his sadness was an act. "A tragic side-effect," the man said. "But the good of the many, as you well know."  
  


"A _side-effect_." The look Giles gave Quentin could've melted glass. "I've never heard murder described as such."  
  


"Do you wish to tell me that your Miss Summers wouldn't make the sacrifice if it meant an end to the evil that plagues humanity?" Quentin said.  
  


"You're not removing the evil from the world, Travers, you're removing anything with demon blood," Giles stated.  
  


"It is the same thing."  
  


"It bloody well is not!" Giles exclaimed. "There are dozens of species of demons and half-demons that would rather slit their throats than harm another living being."  
  


"And there are _thousands_ of species of demons and half-demons that would slit others' throats for the heck of it," Quentin stated.  
  
  
  


Giles was now practically vibrating with repressed anger. "Mass genocide is not the answer. It is _never_ the answer."  
  


"Your judgement is clouded by your... affection... for your Slayer," Quentin said.  
  


"And your judgement is clouded by your being a pompous arsehole," Giles retorted.  
  


"Really, Rupert," Quentin chided. "Only a less intelligent man resorts to vulgarities when he can't win an argument."  
  


Giles turned to Spike, who was sitting on the stone table top in the solarium idly swinging his legs, the staff on his lap. "Spike, do you recall my instructions from earlier?" Giles inquired.  
  


Spike's brow furrowed. "No shagging Angel in the pool?"  
  


Willow couldn't help but giggle. "I think he means about the staff, Spike," she said.  
  


"Oh, right," Spike picked up the staff, "I'm supposed to destroy it."  
  


"No!" Quentin snapped his fingers at Georg, and the large man pulled his gun and aimed it at Spike. Surprisingly, Fred Anders did the same.  
  


Willow was instantly on edge. According to Xander and Oz, getting shot hurt. She'd rather avoid that experience, if she could.  
  


"We'll take that," Quentin said calmly, but with a threatening edge. Anders walked over to Spike, weapon looking far-too-comfortable in the man's hand. Willow was more nervous of him than she was of the brute, Georg. She shouldn't have worried.  
  


Faster than lightning, Spike's hand shot out and closed over the barrel of the gun. Anger highlighting his chiseled features, he crushed the weapon in his fist, mangling the metal beyond usability and recognition. Anders let out a startled shout of disbelief as the damaged gun was torn from his grip and rapidly chucked across the room. It hit Georg's pistol with unerring accuracy and enough force to send his weapon flying from his hand. The two weapons disappeared into the solarium shrubbery.  
  


Anders moved pretty damn fast, too, it turned out. The tall man whipped a stake from his pocket and slammed it into Spike's chest. The sharp wood cut through the material of the vampire's shirt and pale skin, then splintered into pieces when it hit the titanium protecting his heart.  
  


Anders's grey eyes widened as Spike clamped onto his wrist, but he still tried to take Spike down. The man's other hand shot forward, knuckles pointed, in an attempt to crush Spike's larynx. He let out a strangled scream when he connected with the titanium ring around the altered vampire's neck. The bones in his knuckles popped loudly as they were broken.  
  


"What the hell are you?" Anders gasped, pulling his injured hand close to his body, his other wrist still in Spike's unyielding grip.  
  


"Your worst nightmare," Spike said icily. Without moving from the table, he spun Anders around, twisting the man's arm behind his back, and shoved hard. Anders flew across the room, collided with Georg, and the two disappeared into the shrubbery. The tinkle of breaking glass came from behind the green plants as the men crashed through the solarium window, from the force behind Spike's shove.  
  


Spike turned his steely blue gaze on Quentin. "Buffy never liked the Watcher's Council, and I can see why," he practically spat. He gestured with the staff. "You can't just wave a magic wand and expect the world to be bloody perfect. It wasn't demons that made me and Buffy into one warped being, it was a soddin' bunch of humans."  
  


He jumped off the table and stalked right up to Quentin. "If there's one thing I've learned over the past ten years, it's that even a soulless demon can learn humanity," Spike said. "If you want to stop evil, do it like the rest of us: one effin' bad guy at a time. But you're not going to do it with this," Spike held the staff between them and broke it in half, then half again. Then, in front of Quentin's shocked face, Spike dropped the pieces to the floor and ground them to dust under his boot.  
  


"I think you should leave now, Mr. Travers," Giles said quietly. "Don't forget to collect your thugs on your way out."  
  


Quentin squared his shoulders and shot a hard glare at Giles. "We shall be discussing this incident in great length at a later date," he said, then pivoted on his heel and marched out of the solarium.  
  


"Wow." Willow breathed a sigh of relief. "I was scared for a minute when they took out their guns. I don't like guns. Give me a scaly demon with sharp teeth and claws the size of machetes any day."  
  


Spike turned to Giles. "Can we go home now?"  
  


"Yes, I do believe we can," Giles replied. "I wouldn't mind putting an ocean between myself and Travers before he realizes Spike admitted that Buffy was, essentially, dead."  
  


"She's not really dead, though." Spike tapped his chest. "There still a part of her, right here." He looked at his bloody fingertips, then down at his chest. "Oi! I've got a hole in me!"  
  


Willow smiled as Giles fussed over Spike's light injury, dashing a tear from her eye. The blond had been speaking literally, but he wasn't the only one who held a piece of Buffy in his heart. And Willow would bet that Buffy was smiling down on them, from wherever she was.  
  
  


**Epilogue**  
  


Carfax Tower had really been closed for repairs. Several of the floorboards had rotted and fallen away, and the city had shut down the historical monument for safety purposes. The astronomy students had used several roofs, instead, to view the lunar eclipse of the Blue Moon.  
  


The flight home from England had been a much more relaxed affair than the trip there. Plans for moving Spike to L.A. had been made, and, from Giles, Angel had received a thirteen-hour lecture -- supplemented by detailed lists typed up and printed out by Willow -- on taking care of Spike. At the time, Angel had thought the long-winded talk ridiculous. But then, Spike had moved into the Hyperion.  
  


The blond vampire had only been living with Angel for a week, and Angel had already referred to Willow's lists a few hundred times. Phone calls to Giles had been made daily, if not more often. And Angel's stylist, Clarice, had found a few grey hairs on his head.  
  


Angel loved it.  
  


The old hotel seemed brighter with Spike living there. It was never quiet, not even when Spike was asleep. His body hummed with a child-like energy 24-hours a day, affecting everyone around him. The employees of Angel Investigations enjoyed coming to work, although Angel suspected it was just to see how fast the rest of his hair would turn grey. Only Darla hated that Spike was there, a fact she complained about often and loudly. It didn't help that Spike went "nyah-nyah" each time he saw her. Soon, Angel bet, Darla would dump a jar of spiders on Spike in revenge, and all hell would break loose.  
  


At the moment, however, everyone seemed to be getting along. Darla had invited Lindsey to the impromptu midnight pool party Spike had wanted to have, and the vampiress was happily ravishing the attorney on a chaise-lounger in front of the rest of the crew -- all of whom could care less. Cordelia and Xander, who was visiting for the weekend, were flirting heavily at one end of the pool; Gunn, Spike, David Nabbitt, and a few of Gunn's friends were involved in a vicious game of water volleyball at the other.  
  


Angel was playing host, which seemed mostly to consist of fetching food, refilling drinks, and trying to keep his swim trunks from being pulled to his ankles by Spike. Not that he minded Spike de-pantsing him, but he'd rather it be in the privacy of their bedroom where he could properly reciprocate. He really liked reciprocating.  
  


Angel opened the refrigerator door and removed the fixings for sandwiches. The volleyball players were nearing the end of their game, and the vampire knew they'd be starved. Gunn was practically a bottomless pit, and Angel'd bet the black man's friends were the same way.  
  


It was funny: before England, Angel would have told Gunn to take his sandwiches and shove them up his ass. Now, Angel was worried that there wouldn't be enough mayonnaise for everyone. And it was all because of a certain slightly demented blond vampire who Angel was finally able to call his mate.  
  


"Angel love," Spike clumped into the kitchen, sopping wet and wearing his Doc Martens on the wrong feet, "where's the food? We're bloody starved."  
  


"It's right here," Angel said, handing Spike one of the serving trays. "I take it the game is over?"  
  


"Yeah," Spike replied. "We had to call it on account of David getting smashed in the face."  
  


"Is he okay?" Angel asked, concerned.  
  


"Just a little blood, no big," Spike said, heading out of the kitchen with the tray in his hands. "Gunn's taking care of it, telling David to buck up, that a broken nose'd give him character."  
  


Angel stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then shook his head with a chuckle. He couldn't say things were dull around the hotel anymore. It was... nice.  
  


The dark-haired vampire stared sightlessly at the second serving tray, a smile on his face. Unlife was good. He had all his body parts; he had his soul; and he had Spike. There wasn't a single thing else that he needed...  
  


"Oi, poofter! We're out of mayo!"  
  


...except, apparently, mayonnaise.  
  


**End**


End file.
